Bity  of  California 
them  Regional 
jrary  Facility 


•Hli 


BELL    SMITH 


0 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 


NEW  YORK : 

DERBY    &    JACKSON,    119    NASSAU    ST 
1859. 


u.  Art  <rf  OoatuM,  ta  UM  y«r  I8U,  by 
I,   «:.   DKRi 


U  Ik*  CUrk't  0«c*  oT  UM  DMrirt  Owot  for  Ik*  Sowktni  DUlrkt 
of  X«w  York. 


•  TTflD    »T 

THOMAS   B    SMITH, 


Iftm  ftrifhs, 

i  CY.     . 

AxV\^       (mil-,       (CJJiXiA 


2051335 


CONTENTS 


L—  STt  Sea. 

PAGE. 

New  York.  —  Kmbareation.—  Steam-Ship  Franklin.  —  Dvwn  the  Bay.  —  Sum- 
mary Ejectment  of  Clandestine  Passengers.  —  Life  in  the  Cabin.  —  A  Peep  at 
the  Passengers.  —  Amusing  Conversation  on  the  Art  Cuisine  ;  a  Genius  In  the 
Cookery  Line;  the  Fricasseed  Monkey.  —  Dismal  Effects  of  the  first  Dinner 
at  Sea.—  Rough  Weather.—  First  Night  on  the  Ocean.—  The  Dream-Dance  .  19 

II.—  3K  Sea. 

Another  Peep  at  the  Passengers.  —  Graphic  Portrait  of  Mrs.  T  -  ;  her  Oddi- 
ties; her  thrilling  Adventure  with  an  English  Highwayman.  —  The  little 
French  Land  Speculator  ;  his  Lots  in  Illinois  ;  his  Troubles  with  the  Sqnat- 
ters;  and  final  Turn  of  the  Tables  upon  them.  —  Fog  on  the  Banks.  —  Dinner- 
Horn  at  Sea.  —  Steam-Ship  Bill  of  Fare;  Caution  concerning  Game  and  other 
Land  '•  Delicacies."  —  The  Beau  Ideal  Sea-Captain.  —  Mysterious  State-Room 
Passengers.  —  The  Woman  with  the  Seventeen-  Years'  Headache;  her  extra- 
ordinary Feats  at  the  Dinner  Table.—  The  English  Channel.—  A  British 
Pilot  ;  his  "  Latest  News."  —  Humors  of  Disembarcation  ....  83 

III.—  $avfs. 

HATRE.—  The  Author's  Friends  Talk  "French"  to  the  Citizens;  amusing  Re- 
sults. -On  the  Road  to  Parts.  —  ROITEN.  —  A  "nice  Time"  at  the  Station- 
Hou^e.  —  Hotel  D'Angleterre.  —  The  Author's  Party  goes  a  Sight-seeing;  a 
Bearer  of  Dispatches  talks  "French;"  abortive  Attempt  to  find  "the  Old 
Cathedral;"  Monument  to  Joan  of  Arc.  —  Incidents  on  the  Railroad  from 
Rouen  to  Paris  ;  admirable  Disciplinary  Arrangements  on  the  Cars.  —  PAWS  47 


IV.—  jFfrst  JDn»  fit  $arfs. 

PARIS.  —  Hotel  de  Tours;  its  Proprietor,  and  Cuisine.  —  French  Passion  for 
Clocks.  —  The  Author  meets  with  Dr.  Bob,  an  old  Acquaintance.  —  French 
Shams.  —  An  Army  of  Italian  Music-Grinders.  —  A  Visit  to  the  Bourse,  the 

S'llit  ical    Thermometer  of  France  ;  amusing  Description  of  Its  Method  of 
usiness.  —  Fete  in  honor  of  Napoleon  the  Grand.  —  An  Evening  Visit  to  the 
Garden  of  the  Tuileries;  Women  and  Dogs;  a  fearful  Jam  ;  Dr.  Bob's  Coat 
razeed      ...............    61 

V.—  Hoolvfnfl  for  HotJjjfnfls. 

French  Hotels;  their  internal  Arrangements  and  Discomforts;  mere  Plucklng- 
Houses  for  Birds  of  Passage.  —  The  Author  and  her  Party  s  't  out  in  Search 
for  Lodgings  ;  Incidents  on  the  Way,  humorous  and  otherwise  ;  the  Mysteri- 
ous Suite  of  Apartments;  The  Oil  Painting:  Faubourg  St.  Germain  ;  Palaces 
of  the  ancient  Noblesse  ;  Dr.  Bob's  traeic  Legend;  the  Female  Concierge  ; 
P.  talks  French  to  her,  and  Dr.  Bob  translates;  a  Bargain  concluded  .  .  74 


VI  CONTENTS. 

VI.  —  S 


PAOB. 

The  French  and  the  American  "Home"  contrasted.  —  A  Visit  from  Mrs.  S  -  ; 
her  racy  Reminiscences  of  Experiences  in  Parisian  Life.  —  The  Author  com- 
mences House-Keeping  ;  makes  Coffee  by  Rule  ;  discovers  the  Secret  of 
manufacturing  Steamboat  and  Hotel  Coffee  ;  Dr.  Bob  fancies  Himself 
Poisoned,  and  makes  a  Contribution  to  the  City  by  throwing  the  Coffee- 
Pot  out  of  the  Window;  Serious  Consequences  thereof,  the  Pot  being  mis- 
taken for  an  Infernal  Machine;  a  Visit  from  the  Police;  the  Law  appeased 
by  a  heavy  Fine;  Cost  of  the  First  Breakfast;  Results  in  Experience  .  .  88 

VLL—  Sfjj!)ts  from  a  Unicorn). 

Place  de  Madeleine.  —  Life  in  the  Crowd;  the  Music-Grinders;  the  Patched-up 
Remnant  of  many  Battles  ;  a  live  Nobleman.  —  French  Politeness;  its  Analy- 
sis. —  Portrait  of  a  French  Shopkeeper.  —  A  Funeral.  —  Night,  and  Thoughts  of 
Home  ...............  100 


VIII.—  Stye  llunjjs  of 

The  Public  Gardens.  —  Praiseworthy  Efforts  of  the  Government  to  provide 
"Breathing-Places  for  the  People."  —  Place  de  Madeleine.  —  Place  de  Con- 
corde. —  Gardens  of  the  Tuileries;  its  Fountains,  and  Statues,  and  Groups  of 
Merry  People.  —  The  Parisian  Bonne.  —  Champs  Elysees.—  Garden  of  the  Lux- 
embourg; its  Historical  Associations.  —  The  Way  a  Frenchman  drosses  up 
Nature.  —  A  Digression  about  Washington  City,  and  what  it  intent  be  made 
in  an  Architectural  Point  of  View.  —  Unexpected  Meeting  with  an  Old  Friend 
who  relates  her  Vexations  during  Travels  on  the  Continent;  ludicrous  Per- 
sonation of  Napoleon  the  Elder  ..........  110 

IX.—  JJoIfce  antj  ^rnctfcal. 

The  Police  Department  of  Paris;  its  Omnipresence;  the  Stolen  Jewel,  and  its 
Mysterious  Recovery  ;  the  Police  as  a  political  Machine.  —  Observations  on 
the  Way  and  the  Cost  of  Living  in  Paris.  —  The  Parisian  and  the  New  York 
Merchant  contrasted;  low  Tone  of  Morals  among  the  former  Class.  —  Politics; 
the  Evils  of  French  Democracy  ;  Marat's  Proposition  for  summarily  purging 
the  Body  Politic.  —  Kossuth's  Children.  —  The  Galleries  in  the  Louvre  and 
Luxembourg.  —  Light  thrown  on  certain  Matters  of  great  Interest  to  Strangers 
in  Paris  .............  .  124 

X.—  &!)e  ©IB  Rasters. 

Galleries  of  the  Louvro  and  Luxembourg;  the  Old  Masters;  Murillo  and  his 
Master-Piece  ;  Suggestions  touching  a~  Gallery  of  the  Arts  at  Washington  ; 
the  Young  Artist  and  the  VMaUer-of-  Fact  Critic;  Downfall  of  a  Humpbacked 
Painter.  —  Consecration  of  the  Statue  of  Marshal  Ney  ..'...  136 

XI.  —  2T{ 

An  outside  Visit  to  che  Tuileries;  Casual  Sight  of  the  Emperor  and  Empress.  — 
A  royal  Cook,  with  his  Portrait  —  Story  of  the  Archbishop  and  his  beautiful 
Niece;  romantic  Love  Affair;  the  English  Nobleman  ;  Metamorphose  of  the 
Blind  Beggar;  laughable  Tableau  ;  dteressional  Peep  into  the  Archbishop's 
Kitchen;  a  highly-seasoned  Dish,  not  found  in  the  Books,  and  its  disastrous 
Consequences;  the  Duenna  Outwitted  ;  the  Elopement  and  Wedding  .  .145 


CONTENTS.  Vii 

XIL— E\)e  Door  of  JJnrfs. 

PACK. 

Ti-atts  of  Poverty ;  the  Hospitals ;  the  Toilet  of  Death.— Winter  in  the  City ;  a 
Snow-Storm.— Story  of  the  little  Apple-Merchant;  the  Old  Soldier  and  his 
Dying  Grandchild  ;  the  Emperor's  Cipher,  and  the  mysterious  and  beautiful 
Visitor ;  Death  in  the  House 161 

XIIL— jFns&fons  anU  jFolIfes. 

Dress;  the  French  Woman  a  Miracle  of  Taste;  on  the  Boulevards  ;  the  French, 
the  English,  and  the  American  Woman  contrasted  in  their  Toilette  Arrange- 
ments; the  Walking  Portrait;  Hints  at  American  Taste  in  Dress;  the 
"Bloomer;"  the  Art  of  Walking. — The  Bal-Masque;  the  Elder  and  Younger 
•Tones ;  their  clandestine  Visit  to  the  Masquo ;  ludicrous  After-Scene  and 
Humiliating  Exposure  173 

XIV.— a*  Ifttorfltte. 

Tho  Dead-Honse  of  Paris. — French  Passion  for  Suicide;   Espionage  of  the     ' 
Police  on  all  melancholy-looking  Persons;   fearful  Leap  from  the  Arch  of 
Triumph ;   the  Attempt  at  Double  Suicide,  and  its  ludicrous  Failure ;  the 
Story  of  Poor  Josephine 183 

XV.— St.  Sulpfce. 

A  Glance  at  fie  Luxembourg  Palace  and  Gardens;  their  Past  and  Present  As- 
sociations.— A  Sabbath  at  St.  Sulpiee;  Amusements  of  the  People;  "the 
Priest-Procession. — A  French  (Irate-Setter. — Public  Infant-Nurseries;  the 
Doubtful  Child .192 

XVI.— 2T!je  ffiouse  of  f«atat. 

Marat,  the  "  Friend  of  the  People."— Charlotte  Corday,  and  her  self-imposed 
Mission. — A  Visit  to  Marat's  House ;  Interview  with  his  Sister ;  a  Woman  of 
"the  People;"  her  Opinion  of  the  Revolution  and  of  Robespierre  ;  Marat's 
Incorruptibility  and  Poverty 200 

XVIL— £&c  aruflerfes. 

Efforts  of  Louis  Napoleon  to  keep  the  People  busy. — Tho  Government  of  the 
Bayonet. — A  Visit  to  the  Tuileries;  Court  Costume;  a  -Tarn;  Patriotic  Re- 
flections.—Pont  Neuf  and  its  Historical  Associations;  Richelieu,  Ra'villac, 
Henry  IV.,  Charlotte  Oorday,  Madame  Roland,  Danton,  Robespierre.  Tour  do 
Nesle. — The  Grand  Hall  of  the  Tnileries;  The  Kmpcror-Hair-dresser;  the 

Presentation  Scene;    Miss  S ,  the    Enslish    Belle;   Baron    Huber,    tho 

Austrian    Minister;    Judge  Mason;   Popular  Fallacy  touching  Franklin's 
Court  Suit 210 

XVIII— $art>f n  ties  JJlanttfl. 

St  Sulpico  on  a  Spring  Morning. — Downfall  of  a  Parisian  "Institution;" 
Specimen  of  "Masterly  Inactivity  ;"  a  Donkey  in  the  Hands  of  the  Police. — 
Government  War  upon  Dogs;  affecting  Story  of  Canine  Lif<>. — Jardin  des 
Plantes;  the  Noble  Lion  in  his  narrow  Cage,  and  the  chattering  Monkey  in 
bis  roomy  Apartmi-nt.  with  a  su;rr  Ki'Ht'rtion  on  the  Contrast;  the  Hippopot- 
amus enjoyins:  his  15ath;  nn  unfortunate  Morsel.— The  Gallery  of  Zoology, 
and  Cuvier's  Cabinet  of  Comparative  Anatomy ;  Skeleton  of  an  Englishman ; 
Reflections  on  Comparative  Anatomy,  by  Dr.  Bob;  Craniilogy  .  .  .  221 


Vlll        -  CONTENTS. 

XIX. — JFoittauublc.™ 

PAOE. 

On  the  Road  to  Fontalneblean  ;  Effects  of  an  elastic  Spring  Morning. — The  old 
Inn. — FonUiinel'leau:  Madame  do  la  Pompadour's  Theater;  raock  Presenta- 
tion Scene,  Dr.  Hob  upon  the  Throne;  the  Prison  Apartments  of  Pope  Pius 
VII.:  the  Abdication-Chamber  of  Napoleon  the  Ureaicr:  Kos^eau  ;  Voltaire. — 
'•Phantoms,''  or  a  .Ni;.rlit  in  Fontainebleau;  the  Man  of  Destiny;  the 
Shadowy  Procession  of  his  Victims 283 

XX.— 2.e  etjfffonmcv  lie  Ravi's, 

The  Rag-Pickers,  and  their  Anomalous  Life. — Terrible  Effects  of  Jealousy,  as 
exemplified  in  the  Story  of  the  Count  Roilolph  Vesey  and  his  beautiful 
Wife  ;  the  Mysterious  Visitor ;  the  tragic  Denouement ;  the  Family  Physieian 
innocently  implicated  in  the  dreadful  Crime  of  the  Count;  he  'loses  Caale 
and  Practice;  disappears,  and  flnatty  turns  up  a  Chiffoiinier  .  .  .  .246 

XXI.— eChe  Catacombs. 

Ancient  Uses  of  the  Parisian  Catacombs;  Bobbers  and  Smugglers. — The  Scaf- 
fold in  the  Place  de  Grove ;  the  three  condemned  Robbers ;  Confession  on 
the  Hack,  and  consequent  Revealment  of  the  Subterranean  Chambers. — 
Thrilling  adventure  of  Mr.  Wallcutt,  the  American  Artist;  a  Night  in  the 
Catacombs ;  Providential  Escape 258 

XXII. — Knstructfon,  < 

Life  in  a  Boarding-School;  Madame  Dupont's  Establishment ;  the  old  Chateau ; 
the  little  English  Student;  a  Glimpse  of  the  internal  Arrangements  of  a 
French  Literary  Institution;  getting  Food  and  Fire  under  Difficulties; 
Morning  Foraging  Parties;  the  Stolen  Meals;  Thoughts  on  Boarding-School 
Diet;  Moral  Training  at  the  Institution;  Warfare  between  Teachers  and 
Students. — The  Story  of  the  English  Teacher;  her  mysterious  interest  in  the 
little  English  Student;  the  concealed  Door;  the  Portrait;  the  Secret  par- 
tially betrayed;  embarrassing  Situation;  a  full  Confession;  Departure  of  the 
little  Student;  subsequent  Disappearance  of  the  English  Teacher  .  .  273 

XXIII.— gtye  ©I*  Dtfsoit. 

Thoughts  on  French  Prisons ;  the  Bastille.— A  Visit  to  the  Old  Prison  near 
Kue  Bonaparte. — Romantic  Adventures  of  the  Count  Philip  de  Villenenve ; 
the  Queen-Mother  and  Cardinal  Mazarin;  Jealousy  of  the  Cardinal;  Im- 
prisonment of  the  Count  on  a  false  Charge  of  High  Treason  ;  his  numerous 
ingenious  Escapes. — The  treacherous  Jailer  of  the  Bastille  ;  perilous  Situation 
of  the  Count;  his  Extrication  and  terrible  Vengeance  on  the  Jailer ;  his  second 
Escape. — The  Cardinal's  private  Prison;  the  Count  again  a  Prisoner;  Old 
Bertole  the  Jailer,  and  his  deformed  Daughter  Louise;  the  Love  Affair  of 
the  Count  and  the  Deformed ;  Villeneuve's  third  Escape  through  the  Con- 
nivance of  Louise ;  terrible  Vengeance  of  the  Cardinal  ou  Louise  Bertole  and 
her  Father 291 

XXIY.— &ult)ors  an*  0rtfsts. 

A  Visit  to  Lamartlne;  his  Indomitable  Industry  and  scrupulous  Honesty. — 
A  Street  Glance  at  Dumas. — The  Abbe  Lamennais;  Visit  to  his  Library;  his 
Deatli ;  governmental  Outrage  at  his  Funeral. — Mr.  Vattemare,  Projector  of 
the  "Literary  Exchange." — American  Artists  in  Paris;  Healy;  Rossiter; 
Walcutt;  Cranch;  Powers;  May.— Suggestions  touching  an  American  Style 
in  the  Arts  .  815 


INTRODUCTORY 


0f 


rriHACKEEAY  names  one  of  his 
most  entertaining  books  of  travel, 
"A  Trip  from  Corrihill  to  Cairo" 
and  devotes  quite  a  notice  to 
his  unpretending  starting  point. 
I  believe  it  is  no  ordinary  cus- 
tom, to  wanderers  who  leave 
their  tracks  in  ink,  to  devote 
much  of  it  to  the  first  scenes.  I  am  justified  in 
opening  with  "Washington,  for  it  was  the  cause  of 
my  acquaintance  with  the  many  peopled  houses  of 
Paris.  I  said  Toledo  or  Paris,  and  the  last  named 
won  as  a  residence,  but  won  by  the  way  of  Wash- 
ington. In  no  imitation  of  Thackeray,  not  even  an 
humble  imitation,  I  commence  with  the  place  I  saw 
almost  the  last  before  starting,  and  remember  most 
frequently,  for  it  continually  rises  in  contrast  to  what 
I  find  abroad.  Of  all  our  cities  the  capital  is  the 


10  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

most  original  and  purely  American.  Other  places 
are  under  the  influence  of  trade,  or  religion,  or  a 
society  that  apes  Paris,  or  a  society  setting  up. to  be 
English;  but  Washington  is  itself.  As  Governor 

C told  me  one    day,   while  looking   from   the 

terrace,  upon  its  scattered  existence,  it  was  the  first 
child  of  our  independence,  and  has  grown  to  its 
present  state  upon  the  thinnest  of  all  diet — political 
patronage.  Its  character  is  political.  Deprived  of 
the  right  of  suffrage,  it  is  political  without  power, 
and  listens  in  high  excitement  to  questions  it  cannot 
influence,  and  lives  in  a  continual  whirl  of  excite- 
ment about  affairs  over  which  it  can  have  no  control, 
Depending  for  many  years  upon  boarding-houses  and 
hotels,  for  a  meagre  subsistence,  it  has  learned  to 
regard  the  inhabitants  of  such  as  the  source  of  all 
wealth  and  influence. 

The  great  majority  in  these  hotels  and  boarding- 
houses,  are  persons  connected  with  the  Government, 
and  give  birth  to  the  moving,  the  respected  power. 
The  millionaire  of  New  York,  the  Barclays  of  Boston, 
the  wealthy  Creole  from  New  Orleans,  find  themselves 
thrown  into  the  shade,  unnoticed,  unknown,  amid 
a  crowd  that  follows  Jones  of  the  House,  or  Smith 
of  the  Senate.  A  society  made  up  in  this  way, 
and  influenced  in  this  manner,  must  necessarily  be 
peculiar.  Nor  is  it  disagreeable.  The  fearful  pressure 


EUROPE    VIA    WASHINGTON.  11 

of  the  money  market,  felt  so  sorely  elsewhere,  loosens 
and  dissolves  at  the  corporate  limits,  and  the  tone 
governing  its  social  world  is  nearer  approach  to 
one  of  intellect,  than  when  the  bow  fashions  itself 
over  a  counter,  and  the  staple  of  conversation  orig- 
inates and  ends  in  silks  and  calicoes. 

To  the  same  humorous  gentleman  I  am  indebted 
for  an  analysis  of  the  class,  starting  from  hotels 
and  boarding-houses,  who  set  notable  examples  to 
the  inhabitants,  and  have  given  tone  to  the  societ^ 
of  Washington.  They  are,  he  said,  two  sorts,  the 
office-seekers  or  office-holders,  and  the  lobby  mem- 
bers. 

The  first  comes  in  great  force  upon  the  4th 
of  March,  which  sees  a  new  administration  take  its 
place;  and  crowding  hotels,  and  thronging  streets, 
waiting  in  antechambers,  soliciting  assistance,  flour- 
ishing documents,  and  all  the  time  drinking  oceans 
of  bad  wine,  thins  out  as  the  money  fails  or  the 
offices  are  filled,  until,  in  the  heat  of  mid-summer, 
the  avenues  and  antechambers  are  silent  and  deserted. 

This  is  a  temporary  attack,  but  the  other  class 
may  be  styled  chronic.  Washington  is  never  free 
of  its  presence.  You  meet  with  it  at  all  times, 
and  in  all  places,  from  the  wealthy  agent  at  Brown's 
or  the  National,  with  his  reception  rooms,  wines, 
cards  and  suppers,  to  the  poor  widow  who  half 


12  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

starves  at  a  third-rate  boarding-house,  or  the  old 
man  in  homespun,  who  gets  there  as  only  heaven 
knows  how,  and  subsists  as  heaven  wills  only  the 
poor  shall  subsist.  Prying,  boring,  insinuating,  and 
corrupting.  Think  of  a  vast  granary,  surrounded 
by  rats,  nibbling  through  stout  planks  to  the  rich 
stores  within. 

The  comparison  would  be  very  incorrect  and 
unjust,  for  I  am  assured  the  vast  majority  of  these 
claims  are  proper  and  should  be  paid,  and  am  further 
told,  that  while  the  needy  and  honest  are  crowded 
back,  the  unprincipled  and  reckless  too  frequently 
succeed.  But  here  it  is  influencing  society ;  the  poor 
patient  and  humble — the  cunning,  polite,  and  in- 
sinuating'— patiently,  continuously  at  work,  and  giving 
a  sadder  and  a  darker  tinge  to  the  society  of 
"Washington. 

While  this  society  is  a  nearer  approach  to  an 
intellectual  one,  it  is  also  nearer  a  democracy.  The 
so-called  circles  of  other  cities  have  no  existence 
there.  The  President's  levees  are  open  to  all,  and 
to  gain  admittance  to  any  reception  given  by  a 
Government  official,  one  has  only  to  send  a  card 
and  the  door  opens.  Fresh  linen  and  a  whole  coat 
make  up  the  court  costume  of  a  gentleman,  while 
a  woman  may  wear  anything  crazy  imitation  01 
crazier  originality  gives  birth  to.  The  blue  cloth 


EUROPE    VIA    WASHINGTON.  13 

coat,  ornamented  with  brass  buttons,  that  holds 
uneasily  to  the  back  of  the  gentleman  from  the 
west,  rubs  against  the  exquisite  fit  of  New  York 
or  Philadelphia  in  the  small  and  densely-packed 
rooms  of  a  Secretary,  who,  caring  alike  for  all, 
poisons  with  bad  wines  indifferently. 

Oh !  what  a  heterogeneous  mass,  and  what  a  lev- 
eling !  The  dainty  miss,  sole  heiress  to  immense 
funds,  in  perspective,  with  a  name  worshipped  in 
aristocratic  saloons,  hesitates  about  giving  the  light 
of  her  lovely  countenance  to  one,  whose  only  title 
to  an  acquaintance  is  his  place  in  Congress,  and 
that  gained  through  the  fascination  of  his  own  bar- 
room. But  a  whisper  from  her  father,  on  the 
subject  of  a  certain  claim,  breaks  down  the  reserve, 
and  gives  her  delicate  hand  for  the  dance,  though 
she  blushes  in  terror  at  his  awkwardness.  Yet 
although  Hon.  Jo.  Bingham  has  a  doubtful  footing 
in  the  ball-room,  he  stands  firm  enough  in  his  place 
upon  the  floor,  where  he  will  "  roar  you  like  a  lion," 
and  so  the  strangely-mated  dance  goes  on. 

This  is  not  saying  how  Paris,  instead  of  Toledo, 
came  to  be  my  place  of  residence — but  it  came  by 
the  way  of  Washington,  and  a  whim  and  some 
medical  advice,  all  in  this  manner.  We  drove  into 
that  miraculous  lake  town,  that,  against  difficulties, 
nay,  impossibilities,  to  any  other  place,  has  started 


14  BELL    SMITH    ABKOAD. 

into  a  city  —  astonishing  its  denizens  with  unexpected 
wealth — one  cold  October  evening,  and  found,  as 
Park  Benjamin  had  promised  us,  a  great  deal  of 
mud,  and  all  the  planks  of  the  town  in  the  streets. 
The  sky  was  of  a  leaden  hue,  reflected  in  the  wide 
bay,  well  as  a  violent  wind  would  permit,  and 
altogether  the  scene  was  rather  dismal.  The  feeling 
originating  in  such  a  reception,  was  much  allevi- 
ated on  finding  ourselves  comfortably  roomed  in  a 
hotel,  that  would  have  appeared  well  in  New  York. 
The  society,  cultivated  and  refined  as  it  is,  came  to 
our  assistance,  and  we  were  fast  becoming  contented, 
when,  one  morning,  after  the  packet  had  poured 
out  its  weary  voyagers,  we  found  opposite  us  at 
breakfast,  two  piercing  eyes,  looking  from  a  bronzed 
countenance,  over  which  a  huge  quantity  of  black 
hair  had  invaded,  hiding  entirely  a  mouth,  into 
which,  however,  a  large  quantity  of  food  disappeared. 
Suddenly  these  eyes  fell  upon  us,  and  after  a  stare, 
eyes,  hair,  beard,  overcoat,  top-boots  and  all  came 
round  the  table,  and  we  were  shaken  into  a  recog- 
nition of  our  eccentric  friend  L.  B. 

"  What  on  earth  arc  you  doing  here,  and  where 
do  you  come  from  ?" 

"I  saw  a  California  bear,  caged  in  .New  York, 
and  crossed  the  plains  to  have  a  shot  at  one." 

"Well,  and  how  many  did  you  bring  down?" 


EUROPE    VIA    WASHINGTON.  15 

"Not  one,  I  assure  you,  the  confounded  stupid 
beast,  enemy  as  be  is  to  all  law  and  order,  instead 
of  permitting  me  to  kill  him,  had  the  ridiculous 
design  of  killing  me.  This,  the  first  I  met,  and 
I  contemplated  him  for  some  time,  as  he  slowly 
clambered  a  ridge,  looking  as  if  crossed  in  love, 
or  was  soured  by  early  Disappointment,  and  I 
thought  from  the  time  he  was  making,  I  could 
load  and  fire  from  any  position  a  long  while  before 
an  assault.  Bless  your  soul  1  the  report  of  my  rifle 
called  his  attention  to  the  fact,  that  an  enemy  was 
about,  and  something  to  be  done.  With  a  quickness 
amounting  to  genius,  he  started  towards  me.  It  was 
the  most  awkward  gallop  I  ever  witnessed,  and  I 
should  have  died  laughing,  but  from  the  fact  that 
he  was  coming  in  my  direction,  and  making  ex- 
traordinary time." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"I  retreated  up  a  small  tree." 

"But  bears  climb." 

"This  one's  education  had  been  neglected  then. 
He  made  several  attempts,  but  required  so  much 
boosting,  that  he  gave  up  at  last,  and  contented 
himself  with  waiting  until  I  should  come  down. 
You  may  rest  assured  I  was  in  no  hurry,  and  we 
held  that  position  over  twelve  hours.  'To  sit  on 
rocks,  and  muse  o'er  flood  and  fell,'  as  Byron 


It)  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

says,  may  be  pleasant,  but  a  contemplation  of  nature, 
and  a  California  bear  in  disagreeable  proximity,  is 
not  delightful." 

"He  went  away  at  last?" 

"I  say,  thankfully,  he  did,  in  search  of  refresh- 
ments. I  feared  at  first  he  was  indulging  in  a  little 
stratagem,  and  only  let  on  to  go  away ;  but  while 
hesitating,  I  heard  a  terrible  roaring,  and  as  the 
noise  continued  in  one  spot,  I  came  to  the  conclusion 
old  shaggy-sides  was  in  trouble.  Sure  enough  he 
had  fallen  into  a  log-trap,  set  for  some  of  his  family 
by  the  hunters,  and  was  filled  with  disgust  at  his 
unpleasant  situation." 

"  Of  course  you  rendered  him  some  good  service." 

"  I  could  not  forbear  giving  a  few  pokes,  to  call 
his  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  tables  were  turned, 
.and  how  very  superior  intellect  was  to  mere  brute 
force." 

So  much  for  our  friend's  bear  story,  which  was 
followed  by  another  to  the  effect,  that  his  next 
winter  would  be  in  Washington,  and  the  winter 
following  in  Paris.  I  will  not  go  into  the  persuasive 
arguments — indeed  I  do  not  remember  them — by 
which  we  were  induced  to  try  a  winter  at  the  capital. 
It  was,  as*  I  said,  a  whim,  and  then  I  was  told  the 
climate  on  the  lake  shore  would  be  found  too  severe 
foB^m  health. 


EUROPE    VIA    WASHINGTON.  17 

We  arrived  in  Washington  at  midnight,  and  I 
was  awakened  by  the  confused  noises  indicating  a 
city.  I  ran  to  the  window.  Nothing  can  exceed 
the  disappointment  I  experienced.  It  was  a  cold, 
wintry  morning,  with  snow  falling  scantily  and  in 
shivers  from  a  heavy  sky,  and  upon  such  a  scene. 
Below  was  the  wide  street,  with  its  line  of  hacks 
and  noisy  drivers,  bounded  by  houses,  low,  ill-built, 
and  irregular,  while  beyond  I  saw  other  houses  of 
the  same  character,  in  groups  and  alone,  with 
barren  ground  between,  looking  as  if  a  dozen 
villages  had  said,  "  Come,  let  us  be  a  city," — while 
the  grotesque  Smithsonian  Institute,  the  unfinished 
Washington  Monument,  and  a  windmill,  gave  to  the 
landscape  a  still  more  singular  appearance. 

I  found  our  administration  preparing  to  give  way 
to  an  incoming,  and  yet  as  merry  over  their  de- 
parture as  if  it  were  mere  jest,  and  they  not  the 
laughed  at  either.  Writing  this  in  Paris,  where 'no 
one  dares  breathe  an  opinion  opposed  to  the  Gov- 
ernment, where  one  hears  continually  the  roll  of  the 
drum,  6r  sees  the  glittering  of  the  bayonet,  I  can 
scarcely  realize  the  grand  freedom  of  my  home — 
dear,  dear  home,  with  its  pure,  free  air.  Oh !  it  is 
in  another  land  one  learns  to  appreciate  the*blessings 
and  grow  enthused  over  the  beauty  of  our  own. 

The  gay  season  was  at  its  height.     There  is  such 


38  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

a  wide  difference  between  its  getting  up  and  the 
same  thing  here.  I  am  inclined  to  give  elaborate 
details  as  if  I  were  telling  something  new.  I  must 
not  linger  upon  scenes  so  pleasant  in  the  remem- 
brance, the  very  names  I  love  to  cherish,  trembling 
upon  the  tip  of  my  willing  pen,  would  fill  pages. 
The  merry  season  passed,  and  then  came  the  inau- 
guration, a"nd  the  sea  of  hungry  office-seekers — said 
in  no  disrespect,  the  hungriest  one  T  knew  is  a  very 
esteemed  friend  of  mine,  quite  unnecessary  to  name 
here.  This  crowd  too  passed,  roaring  out  of  sight, 
and  the  long  halls  of  the  National  Hotel  were 
deserted,  and  the  sun  began  to  warm  the  public 
grounds  into  beauty,  when  orders  were  given  to 
pack  up  and  go.  So  came  about  these  trifles — 
trifles  light  as  air,  pressed  into  the  service  of  a 
book.  But  let  none  be  deceived,  and  open  it  ex- 
pecting to  be  improved,  or  benefited  by  a  single 
fact,  or  an  original  expression.  I  would  have  a 
book,  and  "  A  ^book's  a  book,  though  there  be 
nothing  in  it,"  though  by  it  one  I  wot  of  will  find 
his  political  opinions  distorted,  his  descriptions  stolen, 
his  sentiments  flattered,  and  his  good  stories  spoiled. 
If  he  can  forgive  me,  my  few  readers  can. 


left  New  York  in  the  good  ship 

Franklin,    on  the  —  day  of  , 

graced  by  the  tears  and  followed  by 
the  blessings  of  Pier  No.  4.  I  had  intended,  for 
months  before,  to  devote  that  hour  of  parting  to 
sublime  emotions ;  but,  to  tell  the  unromantic  truth, 
I  was  so  heated  and  confused  by  the  little  annoy- 
ances and  unlooked-for  occurrences  -of  the  morning, 
that  I  had  nothing  but  a  feeling  of  a  dense  crowd 
under  a  low  awning,  and  a  confused  notion  of  the 
whereabouts  of  six  trunks,  four  boxes,  two  carpet 
bags,  three  cloaks,  guitar-box,  and  a  IJird-cage, 
which  seemed  to  me  certainly  to  have  been  left 
in  the  Astor  House,  or  distributed  over  the  dirty 


20  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

streets  of  New  York.  On  the  morniiig  of  our 
departure,  I  found  a  multitude  of  necessary  things 
undone.  Lucy,  poor  child,  could  not  help  me; 
and  D.  had  gone  off  to  get  shaved,  which  I  knew 
would  last  until  half  past  twelve ;  in  which  time, 
by  the  closest  calculation,  our  steamer  would  have 
been  outside  the  bay  of  New  York,  and  beyon.d 
the  successful  pursuit  of  even  a  "business  character. 
D.'s  shaving  consisted  of  reading  all  the  papers, 
chatting  with  everybody  he  met,  eating  breakfast, 
and  the  startling  discovery,  just  at  twelve  o'clock, 
that  he  had  business  in  bank,  and  letters  which 
must  be  mailed  before  leaving.  To  sum  up  all, 
that  man's  departure  with  us  was  an  especial  act 
of  Providence ;  for  at  the  corner  of  two  narrow 
streets,  just  as  George  S.  on  one  side  was  advising 
me  to  take  champagne  in  case  of  sea-sickness,  and 
Mrs.  W.  on  the  other  was  beseeching  me  to  send 
her  the  latest  new  bonnet,  I  caught  sight  of  the 
anxiously-sought-for  individual,  seated  in  a  hack, 
calmly  surveying  a  barricade  of  hacks  and  omnibus- 
es which,  probably  employed  by  the  hour,  were  con- 
tent to  remain  there  the  entire  day.  We  captured 
him,  under  protest,  and  arrived  at  the  boat  as 
the  clock  struck  twelve.  Immediately  the  floating- 
world  slipped  cable,  and  with  a  great  waving  of 
handkerchiefs,  loud  huzzas,  and  a  shrill  shriek 


A  T      S  E  A .  21 

from  the  engine,  which  seemed  a  cry  of  angry  dis- 
may, we  splashed  into  the  bay,  "outward  bound." 
The  choicest  bits  of  emotion  I  have  ever  been 
blessed  with  have  come  unexpected.  I  never  sat 
out  to  be  delighted,  awe-struck,  or  astonished, 
that  I  did  not  mourn  over  a  total  failure.  An 
ordinary  picture,  in  an  unexpected  corner,  has 
won  more  admiration  and  given  more  pleasure 
than  whole  galleries  of  famous  old  masters.  I  saw 
New  York  gradually  disappear,  and  my  mind,  in 
place  of  bidding  adieu  to  the  great  world  we  call 
our  own,  and  which  for  so  many  days,  months, 
and  perhaps  years,  would  be  dreamed  over  or 
remembered,  kept  running  on  a  handkerchief  that 
I  was  satisfied  I  had  left  in  my  room  at  the 
Astor  House,  and,  of  course,  never  to  be  seen  by 
the  real  owner  again.  A  small  matter,  that  hand- 
kerchief, light  and  delicate  enough  to  have  been 
a  gift  from  Oberon  to  Titania,  and  yet  it  was 
large  enough  to  cover  New  York  bay,  Brook- 
lyn, and  all  the  surroundings  so  generally  seen 
through  tears  by  departing  travelers.  By  force  of 
will,  I  disposed  of  the  handkerchief,  and  was  be- 
coming tranquil,  when  D.  asked  what  had  become 
of  our  passport — if  I  knew  any  thing  about  the 
keys — had  not  the  brandy  and  Jamaica  ginger 
been  forgotten?  All  of  which  sent  me  from  the 


22  BELL     SMITH    ABROAD. 

deck  to  our  cabin,  before  unvisited.  Our  entrance 
was  greeted  by  a  combination  of  odors,  which  at 
once  answered  half  his  questions.  The  ginger,  hair 
oil,  brandy,  and  cologne,  had  all  been  tumbled  by 
poor  little  Lucy  into  a  carpet  sack,  which,  when 
opened,  presented,  as  D.  said,  a  "  considerable 
smash " — the  mingled  liquids  dyeing  our  night- 
dresses, which  by  the  process  seemed  to  suffer  a 
"sea  change  unto  something  rich  and  strange."  I 
sat  down,  and  laughed  and  cried,  as  D.,  with  a 
rueful  countenance,  pulled  out  the  various  articles 
and  held  them  up,  making  queer  comments.  He 
wanted  to  throw  them  all  out  the  window,  and  let 
the  fish  experiment — asserting  that  they  would  play 
"Old  Gooseberry"  with  the  sharks,  as  he  did  not 
think  any  digestion  would  be  good  against  such  a 
quantity  of  excellent  preventives.  He  argued,  how- 
ever, that  taken  by  some  larger  creature  as  a  home- 
opathic dose,  and  as  all  the  ills  that  fish  were 
heir  to  must  be  some  species  of  sea-sickness,  we 
might  be  the  means  of  saving  the  life  of  some 
aged  and  infirm  whale. 

Upon  our  return  to  the  deck,  the  engine  had 
ceased  its  throbbings,  and  we  were  heading  in  to- 
wards a  low,  sandy  island,  graced  by  a  lighthouse, 
but  otherwise  barren  enough  for  Willis  to  run  out 
and  play  Eobinson  Crusoe  on.  A  boat  was  being 


AT     SEA.  23 

lowered,  with  a  dozen  men  in  it,  and,  I  was  in- 
formed, a  party  made  up  of  patriotic  Frenchmen  in 
reduced  circumstances,  who  had  hid  themselves  in 
the  vessel,  hoping  in  this  way  to  win  a  passage  to 
their  sunny  land  of  grapes  and  gayety.  Poor  fel- 
lows !  what  golden  hopes  they  had  seen  melt  away 
upon  foreign  shores,  and  now,  sick  at  heart,  were 
willing  to  undergo  any  hardship  to  get  back  once 
more  to  wives  and  children.  My  heart  ached  as  I 
saw  them  turned  homeless  and  penniless  upon  the 
sands.  But  such  sympathy  is  in  great  danger  of 
being  misplaced.  I  but  a  few  days  before  began 
crying  over  the  parting  scene  gotten  up  by  some 
Irish  in  the  cars;  but,  before  I  could  get  at  my 
pocket-handkerchief,  Paddy  and  Co.  were  laughing 
as  heartily  as  before  they  had  howled.  And  even 
in  this  instance  the  unfortunate  exiles  indulged  in 
several  merry  capers  upon  the  sands,  and  gave  us  a 
parting  shout,  mingled  with  laughter,  that,  ringing 
over  the  waves,  cheered  me  up  considerably. 
Wives,  children,  and  French  generally,  were  not  in 
such  a  bad  way,  after  all. 

We  saw  the  sun  go  down  at  sea.  I  was  sur- 
prised at  the  number  of  passengers  possessing  a 
taste  for  this  beautiful  finale  to  a  summer's  day. 
Indeed,  they  preferred  it  to  their  dinner,  and  clung 
to  the  decks,  while  a  few  ancient  mariners  were 


24  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

uncorking  champagne  and  enjoying  substantiate  be- 
low. Among  the  rest,  Lucy  and  D.  hung  over  the 
railing,  and  seemed  to  be  in  raptures ;  at  least, 
they  came  back  and  so  informed  me.  Came  back ; 
for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  in  a  confidential  way,  I 
took  one  look  along  the  huge  vessel,  and  saw  the 
bow  playing  bo-peep  with  the  horizon,  and  a 
deathly  feeling  came  up,  that  carried  me  miles 
beyond  admiration.  I  resolutely  denied  being  at 
all  sick,  and,  indeed,  enjoyed  some  hearty  laughs. 
Colonel  H.  and  D.  had  been  boasting  of  their  pow- 
er of  resistance — claimed  to  be  "old  salts,"  "sea 
dogs,"  and  other  expressive  names.  The  first  waves 
brought  D.  down.  He  said  he  was  "  a  miserable 
man,  and  nary  salt  to  speak  of,"  "  wished  he  was 
dead,"  &c. ;  and  in  the  midst  of  his  miseries  Colonel 
H.  rushed  up,  with  his  handkerchief  instead  of  his 
dinner  in  his  mouth,  and  for  the  space  of  fifteen 
minutes  was  speechless.  His  first  utterance  was  a 
gasping  remark  that  he  had  no  idea'  he  was  so  bil- 
ious. Both  wandered  about,  looking  like  star  can- 
dles. I  heard  D.  proposing  to  the  colonel  that  he 
should  step  out  and  make  affidavit  to  the  effect 
that  he  was  a  "sea  dog,  and  rather  admired  the 
briny  deep  than  otherwise." 

One   can    never    be    on    familiar   terms  with    old 
ocean.     I  am  satisfied  the  last  night  at  sea  will  be 


AT     SEA.  25 

strange  as  the  first.  The  sailors,  who  all  their  lives 
have  been  tossed  upon  its  restless  waves,  until  their 
birth-marks  of  character  are  washed  out,  and  they 
become  a  people  unto  themselves,  I  am  convinced 
never  look  upon  their  habitation  as  we  do  on  the 
dells,  hills,  and  meadows,  of  our  homes.  "  It 's  a 
flyin'  in  the  face  of  heaven,  for  men  to  be  goin" 
up  in  smoke  bags,"  said  an  old  countryman  to  me, 
once,  while  witnessing  a  balloon  ascension;  "  if  the 
Lord  had  intended  us  to  fly,  he  'd  a  given  us 
wings."  And  so  I  think  of  going  down  to  sea  in 
great  ships.  "We  have  not  been  provided  with 
stomachs  nor  fins.  I  looked  around  the  little  room, 
in  which  we  were  to  live  twelve  days,  and  wonder- 
ed whether  I  should  get  used  to  and  love  it  at 
last.  Your  thousands  of  readers  out  West,  who 
never  saw  such  a  thing,  must  imagine  an  exagger- 
ated store-box  set  on  the  top  of  a  tee-totum,  with 
two  shelves  for  berths,  and  a  port-hole  for  a  win- 
dow, through  which,  when  open,  the  sea  roared, 
making  you  feel  as  if  two  huge  shells  were  clasped 
over  your  ears.  Of  the  berths  from  first  to  last  I 
could  make  nothing ;  the  mystery  of  getting  in  and 
out  puzzled  my  weary  brain  the  last  night.  I  felt 
so  like  being  coffined  the  first  evening,  and  feared 
so  positively  that  the  upper  shelf  would  break  down, 
that  I  pulled  my  mattress  on  to  the  floor,  and  in 


26  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

the  morning  waked  with  my  feet  higher  than  my 
head — feeling  so  miserably  ridiculous  that  I  did  not 
know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry.  I  did  the  first ;  for 
I  saw  D.  balancing  himself  on  the  upper  shelf,  in 
evident  doubt  whether  to  climb  or  tumble  down ; 
and  on  asking  how  he  felt,  he  responded,  with 
a  most  rueful  countenance,  that  he  was  "an  an- 
cient mariner,  whose  home  was  on  the  mountain 
wave." 

"We  had  a  motley  collection  of  passengers.  Cap- 
tain Noah,  when  commander  of  his  high-water  craft, 
had  not  a  more  singular  collection  of  creatures. 
Next  to  me,  at  table,  sat  a  German  Baron,  with  an 
immense  quantity  of  hair  on  his  countenance,  and 
a  castle  on  the  Rhine.  He  is  a  gentleman,  how- 
ever; and,  like  Cardinal  Wolsey,  possesses  an  un- 
bounded stomach.  He  can  eat  any  thing,  al- 
most— almost,  I  say ;  for  pine-apple  clipped  in  beer, 
with  sea  biscuit  and  cheese,  did  prove  too  much, 
and  for  some  days  the  baron  was  not  seen  by 
men. 

In  the  way  of  eating,  and  discoursing  thereon, 
however,  the  fashionable  author  of  the  "  Upper  Two 
Dozen,"  and  an  English  officer,  who  had  places  not 
for  from  us,  carried  things  to  "a  high  pitch  of 
perfection."  I  had  not,  until  enlightened  by  these 
learned  gentlemen,  the  remotest  idea  of  the  art  cul- 


AT     SEA.  27 

inary.  What  superb  dinners  these  savans  had 
partaken  of;  what  peculiar,  delicate  dishes  it  had 
been  their  fortune  to  be  ravished  over;  how  often 
they  had  been  poisoned,  cruelly  poisoned,  and  suffered 
extreme  penalty,  from  vile  compounds  prepared  bj 
villains  disguised  as  cooks,  I  cannot  pretend  to 
remember.  To  such  an  extent  has  the  art  been 
cultivated,  that  many  things  which  wculd  disgust  an 
unsophisticated  stomach,  are  to  be  considered  prime 
luxuries.  For  instance,  one  day  at  dinner,  when 
our  vessel  was  rolling  in  that  easy  sweep  over  the 
long  swells  that  keep  one  in  such  a  state  of  distressing 
uncertainty  between  hunger  and  sea-sickness,  our 
author  began: 

."The  prejudices,  my  dear  sir,  against  some  delicious 
articles  of  food,  is  really  astonishing — remnants  of 
barbarism,  I  assure  you.  Now,  for  instance,  some 
species  of  snake  are  quite  as  good  in  the  hands  of 
an  artiste  as  your  eel.  It  has  only  been  of  late 
that  frogs  are  put  to  their  proper  use,  and  now 
science  has  been  able  to  get  over  the  hind  legs 
only.  I  tell  you  nothing  has  been  made  in  vain, 
and  the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  buzzard-fricassee 
will  be  esteemed  a  famous  delicacy.  Permit  me  to 
give  you  an  illustration :  I  had  a  cook  once,  a  capital 
fellow — indeed  a  man  of  infinite  genius — had  he 
stooped  to  books,  I  have  little  question  but  that 


28  BELL     SMITH    ABROAD. 

he  would  have  at  once  been  recognized.  I  got 
him  at  a  great  bargain.  He  cooked  once  as  an 
experiment,  impelled  by  his  wonderful  genius,  the 
Empress  Marie's  favorite  monkey,  and  had  to  fly 
for  his  life ;  and  this  proves  how  nearly  the  affections 
are  allied  to  our  digestive  organs.  The  Empress 
was  so  delighted  with  the  dish  thai  she  never  rested 
until  she  discovered  of  what  it  was  composed.  The 
Bible,  you  know,  speaks  of  men  without  bowels. 
Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I  was  surprised  at  my  house 
one'  day  by  a  party  of  distinguished  diners,  who 
came  purposely  to  try  my  cuisine.  There  was  not 
an  article  to  speak  of  in  the  house.  Barbetti  looked 
puzzled  for  a  second,  but  only  a  second.  Hang  me 
if  I  knew  half  the  time  what  I  was  eating.  We  had 
a  dinner — superb,  wonderful  dinner — and,  in  the 
midst  of  our  raptures  at  its  conclusion,  we  begged 
Barbetti  to  give  us  the  real  bill  of  fare.  My  dear 
sir,  a  little  wine,  if  you  please.  It  consisted  of  a 
Cincinnati  ham,  rny  favorite  pointer,  a  poll-parrot, 
six  kittens,  and  four  rats — the  last  done  up  in 
sugared  pastry  as  a  dessert." 

"  What  became  of  him  ?"    • 

"Died.  True  to  his  character,  died  trying  the 
effect  on  himself  of  an  ordinary  New  York  dinner 
— died  in  horrible  agony." 

A    party   of   young  gentlemen    from    the   South 


AT      SEA.  29 

and  West — some  proposing  to  be  students  in  Paris, 
others  on  pleasure  bent — messed  together,  'and  con- 
sumed great  quantities  of  wine  in  a  very  merry 
way.  Their  dinner  began  at  half-past  four,  and 
ended  at  midnight,  or  thereabouts.  We  were  gen- 
erally notified  of  the  breaking  up,  as  one  of  the 
company  always  made  an  attempt  to  climb  into 
the  machinery,  and  was  repulsed  with  loud  outcries, 
while  another,  descending  into  the  cabin,  invariably 
turned  to  the  right  instead  of  the  left,  which  brought 
him  to  the  state-room  of  a  dyspeptic  old  gentleman, 
and  a  pitched  battle  was  the  consequence,  which 
disturbed  the  entire  community  before  peace  could 
be  proclaimed.  These  gentlemen — all  bearers  of 
dispatches,  by-the-by — by  their  great  good  nature 
and  fine-  flow  of  spirits,  did  more  to  enliven  the 
passage  than  all  the  others  together.  There  was 
no  resisting  their  continual  jokes,  and  lively,  rattling 
convocation. 

Mrs.  T.,  the  celebrated  traveler — having,  as  you 
know,  girdled  the  earth,  and  alone ;  a  German  savan, 
who  had  an  entire  state-room  to  himself — the  boat 
was  not  crowded — with  the  upper  berth,  and  every 
corner,  indeed,  full  of  geological  specimens,  who 
kept  diving  down  and  bringing  up  startling  rocks, 
whenever  he  could  get  one  to  listen  to  his  theory, 
that,  the  earth  was  originally  nothing  but  fog — a 


30  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD, 

theory  we  were  much  inclined  to  accept,  for  we  saw 
nothing  but  this  article,  and  of  the  densest  kind, 
two-thirds  of  our  way — I  believe  the  largest-class 
world  could  be  made  several  times  during  our  trip ; 
an  eccentric  Frenchman,  who  had  been  speculating 
in  American  lands — made  the  rest  of  our  notable 
passengers.  We  had,  the  captain  assured  us,  a 
large  collection  of  unknowns,  who  would  keep 
their  state-rooms,  in  various  stages  of  disgust  and 
misery,  until  the  steamer  arrived  at  Havre. 

On  Friday  we  had  rough  weather — Captain  Wotten 
would  not  permit  us  to  call  it  a  storm.  It  was 
sublime  to  me ;  and  I  sat  upon  the  deck  all  day, 
and  until  late  at  night,  spell-bound  in  the  rain  and 
wind,  watching  the  breaking  waves.  I  have  a 
queer  way  of  giving  character  and  will  to  these 
things.  Looking  at  the  rapids  of  Niagara,  it  always 
seemed  to  me  as  if  a  portion  of  the  wraves  were 
struggling  back  from  the  fearful  precipice.  Old, 
gray-headed  conservatives,  who  vociferated  and  fought 
the  mad  progressives,  shouted  earnestly  of  bad  times 
ahead,  of  crisis,  and  crash,  and  ruin,  to  no  purpose. 
And  now,  as  the  waters  roared  around  us,  it  seemed 
as  if  a  portion  were  doing  battle  in  our  behalf — how 
the  immense  waves  would  dash  fiercely  at  us,  and 
other  huge  waves  would  meet  them,  and  struggle  and 
break,  and  fall  back  in  wildest  tumult — how  way  off 


AT     SEA.  31 

a  terrible  billow  would  lift  its  head  and  seem  suddenly 
to  get  sight  of  our  vessel,  and  with  a  wild  roar  start 
in  pursuit,  with  an  army  pressing  after — how,  just 
as  we  seemed  about  being  devoured,  other  waves 
would  rush  abruptly  round  our  bows,  and  give 
battle,  while  the  old  boat  strode  bravely  on,  leaving 
them  blindly  fighting  way  abaft.  For  hours  way 
into  the  night  I  listened  to  and  looked  upon  the 
uproar,  until  D.  dragged  me  below. 

Below,  the  old  boat  was  making  a  terrible  pother. 
Every  timber,  every  plank,  seemed  possessed  of  a 
voice,  and  complaining  bitterly  to  each  other.  "  Bad 
times" — "sorry  they  come" — "  wished  the  thing  done 
with" — seemed  whined  and  groaned  out  in  every 
conceivable  tone.  I  fell  asleep,  watching  a  stool 
and  a  wash-basin  dance"  a  stately  minuet  over  our 
floor.  With  what  dignity  and  ease  the  stool  chasse'd ; 
how  they  met  and  crossed;  how  they  forwarded  to 
a  sturdy  pair  of  boots,  and  seemed  soliciting  the 
honor — which  boots  surlily  declined — and  gradually 
the  stool  lengthened  into  a  stately  old  gentleman, 
with  powdered  wig  and  slender  shanks,  and  the 
basin  changed  to  a  fleshy  dowager,  all  brocade 
and  fan.  And  still  the  stately  minuet  went  on, 
and  on,  and  on,  to  music  that  seemed  made  up  of 
trombones  and  squeaky  fiddles. 

I  was  startled  from  my  dream  by  a  fearful  outcry 


32  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

near  us ;  and  we  rushed  out,  frightened  terribly,  to 
find  that  the  German  savan's  specimens,  placed  in 
the  upper  berth,  had  fallen  down  and  nearly  killed 
him. 


MAKE  a 
Cook's  voy- 
age of  my  At- 
lantic experiences. 
— "Well,  it  was 
strange  enough  to 
me  ;  but,  as  one's 
success  in  story- 
telling is  not  in  what  is  seen,  so  much  as  in  the  man- 
ner of  its  relation,  I  do  not  hesitate  for  the  purpose  of 
of  asking,  is  this  new  or  old?  We  go  through  the 


34  BELL    SMITH     ABllOlD. 

world  with  the  same  pair  of  eyes,  and  looking  at  the 
same  things ;  but,  back  of  those  eyes,  what  various 
brain  and  widely-differing  experiences !  If  I  cannot 
interest  you  in  the  passage  across,  I  will  drop  my  pen 
in  despair ;  for  the  fault  is  not  in  the  great  Atlantic, 
but  the  penholder.  I  realized  this  with  Mrs.  T. 
Gathered  round  her,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
wheel-house — when  the  fog  permitted  us  to  have 
that  luxury — she  delighted  a  large  circle  with  the 
graphic  description  of  things  we  should  have  seen  a 
thousand  times  in  our  own  land.  I  stopped  in  my 
usual  way,  to  analyze  my  happiness,  and  found  its 
cause  in  the  pleasant  way  in  which  she  presented 
old,  familiar  things.  I  am  smitten  with  an  ambition 
to  do  the  same  thing ;  so,  no  searching  for  untrodden 
paths,  or  even  unfamiliar  things. 

The  lady,  Mrs.  T.,  somewhat  shocked  me  in  the 
beginning  of  our  acquaintance.  My  first  view  was 
not  the  pleasantest,  as  it  startled  all  the  old  associa- 
tions which  surround  me.  On  the  second  day  out, 
I  found  her,  after  dinner,  walking  the  deck,  in  boots 
with  most  decided  heels,  a  traveling  dress  of  sombre 
hue  and  stoutest  material,  a  bonnet  with  brim  broad 
enough  to  be  of  service,  and  a  pair  of  buckskin 
gloves,  with  gauntlets  of  sufficient  length  to  cover 
one-third  the  arm.  These,  upon  rather  a  stout 
woman  of  thirty-five  or  forty,  with  a  handsome  face, 


AT     SEA.  35 

made  up  of  a  prominent  chin,  aquiline  nose,  and 
large  hazel  eyes,  were  sensible,  and  not  unbecoming ; 
but  there  she  was,  walking  alone,  in  a  very  quiet, 
dignified  manner,  with  her  hands  behind  her,  and 
smoking  a  cigarito.  I  had  heard  of  such  things ; 
but  here  it  was,  under  the  broad  daylight,  and  in 
public.  "Well,  well,  custom  makes  a  wide  difference  ; 
and  I  learned  to  love  Mrs.  T.,  but  under  protest 
when  smoking. 

She  has,  you  know,  a  restless  temperament,  and 
is  forever  traveling.  This  is  accomplished  alone, 
and  undisturbed,  she  says.  But  once,  and  once 
only,  we  were  informed  one  day,  was  she  ever 
molested.  This  occurred  while  riding  alone  through 
some  woodland  in  England.  A  man  of  very  un- 
prepossessing appearance  suddenly  sprang  from  the 
side  of  the  road  and  seized  the  horse  by  the  rein, 
making  a  demand,  at  the  same  time,  while  flourishing 
a  very  ugly  stick.  Pretending  to  search  for  her 
purse,  she  quietly  opened  in  her  pocket  a  snuff-box, 
and  suddenly  threw  the  contents — the  best  Scotch — 
in  both  eyes  of  her  new  acquaintance.  In  a  paroxysm 
of  blind  rage  and  pain,  he  released  the  bridle  rein, 
and  struck  at  her  with  the  club.  The  blow  fell 
upon  the  horse,  and  only  made  him  gallop  away 
the  quicker.  Looking  back,  she  saw  her  late  friend 
performing  a  high  dance,  far  more  remarkable  for 


?>G  BELL    SMITH    ABKOAD. 

activity  than  grace.  The  best  use  I  ever  knew 
tobacco  put  to. 

When  to  Mrs.  T.'s  striking  traits  of  character  and 
peculiar  habits,  you  add  rare  accomplishments — which 
enable  her  to  converse  fluently  in  five  languages, 
paint  like  an  artist,  and  gives  a  facility  to  her  pen 
which  only  requires  use  to  make  her  famous — you 
will  not  wonder  at  my  fascination.  I  would  not 
like  to  see^  my  female  friends  making  her  a  model. 
These  things,  which  appear  passable,  and  even 
pleasing,  in  her,  would  be  sadly  misplaced  in  others. 
After  all,  imitations  of  any  sort  are  abominable. 
Let  us  live  up  to  such  traits  as  nature  has  given 
us,  if  any,  and  rest  assured  we  cannot  do  better. 
If  I  were  to  venture  upon  a  very  profound  observation, 
I  should  say  that  this  spirit  of  imitation  is  our  national 
characteristic.  But  no;  I  will,  not  venture  upon  a 
profound  observation-especial  in  reference  to  national 
peculiarities,  until  I  have  seen  some  other  people 
than  our  own. 

Speaking  of  national  peculiarities,  our  little  French- 
man seems  to  think,  from  the  experiences  he  gave, 
that  we  had  abundance.  He  had  tried  his  intel- 
lect at  speculating  in  lands.  He  began  by  pur- 
chasing on  paper,  ten  thousand  acres  in  Illinois,  and, 
furnished  with  a  portable  saw-mill,  and  armed 
with  his  title-deeds,  a  little  army  of  clerks?  clergy- 


AT     SEA.  37 

man,  and  servants,  he  set  out  in  search  of  his  do- 
main. 

"  Ma  foi,  I  cannot  find  him ;  I  look  tree,  five,  ten 
day  ;  all  say  dis  no  your  land.  Ver  mad  dat  I  look  ; 
but  I  find  him ;  I  make  von  grand  discovery.  Dey 
all  be  vat  you  call  squattair ;  dam  squattair,  dey 
lie  all  ze  time.  I  get  my  papier,  I  say  you  von 
dam  squattair,  brigand,  pig — you  go.  Sacre,  he 
takes  de  rifle  vat  shoot  von  leetle  squirrel  more 
zan  von  mile,  and  I  go — go  ever  so  fass.  I  nevare 
stop  till  I  arrive  at  Cincinnat.  I  see  von  juge,  two 
juge,  all  ze  juge;  dey  say  ver  sorry,  ver  sorry;  but 
vot  I  care  for  ze  sorry?  I  am  mad,  broke  man — 
broke  all  into  leetle  pieces  of  despair.  I  consider 
ze  grand  Republique  von  grand  hombug.  But  von 

juge  say,  You  see  Monsieur ,  un  brave  homme 

—he  will  get  you  out  of  all  care.  Well,  so  he  did, 
in  grand  victorie — grand  triumphe." 

"  How  ?"  we  asked  anxiously. 

"  Oh !  dis  Monsieur  be  von  gran  advocat.  He 
Joiow  more  trick  zan  all  dis  country.  He  say, 
your  title  it  is  good,  your  land  it  is  good.  Ahl 
but  ze  dam  squattair,  I  say.  Nevare  mind  ze 
squattair,  he  say ;  your  title  it  is  good,  your  land 
it  is  good;  we  will  sell  him.  I  so  delight,  I  jump 
ever  so  high,  like  von  buck.  Monsieur  ze  advocat 
make  von,  vat  you  call,  map  of  ze  subdivision  of 


38  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

all  ze  color  of  ze  rainbow ;  it  have  ze  church,  ze 
saw-mill,  ze  court-house,  but  it  have  no  squattair; 
and  we  sell — we  sell  ever  so  fass ;  ze  lots  go  like  ze 
hot  cake,  and  I  gets  my  money,  and  I  gets  nine,  ten 
thousand  dollair  more." 

On  our  expressing  some  doubt  as  to  the  morality 
of  this  proceeding,  he  added,  hastily : 

"  No,  no  ;  ver  morale,  ver  good.  Ze  man  as  buy, 
go  viz  rifle,  too,  and  ze  dam  squattair  run  like  ze 
debbl.  It  is  vats  you  call  ze  diamond  cut  diamond." 

The  pleasure  of  a  passage  across  the  Atlantic  to 
Europe  is  much  marred  by  the  heavy  fogs,  which 
hang  over  us  two-thirds  of  the  way — sometimes  so 
dense  we  could  not  see  from  one  end  of  the  vessel 
to  the  other,  and  falling  round  like  rain.  Then  the 
bell,  with  its  warning  clang,  is  dismal  beyond  de- 
scription, especially  in  an  evening,  when  night  comes 
without  its  glory  of  a  parting  sunset ;  but  the  cold 
gray  seems  gathering  up  in  fog  from  the  rolling  water, 
as  if  the  ocean  were  throwing  out  the  night  from 
its  blacker  depths.  What  a  time  to  lean  over  the 
rails,  and  think  of  great  ships  having  gone  down 
into  unfathomable  caverns,  dropping  like  plummets 
out  of  the  mind's  imaginings — of  tossing,  hunger, 
thirst,  and  despair,  in  open  boats,  over  which  day 
and  night  flow  like  grim,  unfeeling  phantoms !  I 
was  one  afternoon  looking  out  into  the  dense,  chilling 


AT     SEA.  39 

fog,  and  realizing,  as  I  gave  way  to  my  fancy,  the 
terrible  fascination  of  the  great  deep,  when  the  sound 
of  a  horn  smote  on  my  ear.  It  was  such  as  I  have 
heard,  over  and  often,  come  ringing,  winding,  soft 
and  long,  over  the  prairies  of  the  West — a  dinner 
horn,  common,  unmistakable  dinner  horn;  and  to 
hear  it  there,  far  out  to  sea,  where  one  looked  for 
icebergs  and  whales,  had  upon  me  the  most  startling 
effect.  At  first,  I  thought  it  a  delusion,  and  had 
scarcely  time  to  ask  the  meaning,  when  a  sailing 
vessel  flashed  past  us,  so  near  it  seemed  to  touch. 
It  came  and  went  so  silently  and  swift,  that,  with 
its  singular  announcement,  I  thought  of  the  phantom 
ship,  and  almost  expected  to  see  the  doomed  mariner, 
in  old-fashioned  Dutch  dress,  spring  upon  the  netting 
to  hail  us,  and,  in  so  doing,  doom  us;  for,  as  the 
tradition  runs,  all  vessels  thus  approached  had  fearful 
weather,  and  were  wrecked,  or  met  with  some  terrible 
fate,  that  sent  few  or  none  ashore  to  tell  the  sad  story. 
The  ocean  has  lost  much  of  its  wild  interest  since 
commercial  enterprise  has  left  so  little  of  it  unknown, 
and  swept  piracy  from  its  surface  into  novels.  A 
voyage  everywhere  is  such  a  safe,  commonplace  affair, 
that  to  tell  of  it  is  to  appear  exceedingly  cockney, 
There  is  more  peril,  and  infinitely  more  misery,  in 
a  night's  ride  on  the  New  Jersey  railroad,  from  New 
York  to  Philadelphia,  than  a  trip  from  America  to 


40  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

England.  We  growl  over  our  dinners,  and  loiter 
over  our  wine,  in  a  very  hotelish  way,  not  in  keeping 
with  perils  or  adventures.  Imagine,  if  your  readers 
can,  the  St.  Nicholas  or  Astor  afloat  for  ten  or  twelve 
days,  with  all  the  exquisite  interior  of  dress,  eating, 
drinking,  and  manner,  and  they  will  have  a  pretty 
correct  idea  of  life  in  the  Franklin.  We  breakfasted 
at  ten,  lunched  at  one,  and  dressed  for  our  dinner 
at  five.  The  living  on  the  Franklin  and  Humboldt 
is  said  to  be  superior  to  any  other  line.  Certainly, 
we  had  nothing  to  complain  of,  and  all  the  passengers 
— the  sjx  bearers  of  dispatches  included — were  loud 
in  their  expressions  of  admiration.  I  must  say — 
and  being  an  invalid  I  have  a  right  to  question — I 
have  my  doubts  about  game,  fowls,  and  other  deli- 
cacies, being  kept  fresh  so  many  days,  and  in  such 
quantities  as  the  Franklin  exhibited.  And  let  me 
propose  the  doubt  to  the  qualmy  passenger,  trusting 
it  may  induce  him  to  eschew  the  tempting  display, 
and  abide  by  ham  and  biscuit. 

Captain  Wotton  is  my  beau  ideal  of  an  officer — 
patient,  bluff,  hearty,  handsome,  and  carrying  in 
every  lineament  evidence  of  experience  and  capacity. 
There  is  no  humbug  about  him.  It  were  better 
had  he  more,  and  took  some  care  in  getting  up  the 
vote  of  thanks  which  so  often  drag  other  officers 
into  notice.  He  had  for  every  one  a  kind  word, 


AT     SEA.  41 

and  at  all  times  a  fund  of  good  humor,  that  had 
treasured  up  a  multitude  of  pleasant  stories,  which 
often  set  our  table  in  a  roar.  I  do  not  praise  our  officer 
for  doing  his  duty,  but  I  do  admire  the  indifferent 
way  in  which  he  leaves  reputation  to  take  care  of 
itself. 

The  queerest  things  about  these  sea  voyages  may 
be  found  in  the  fact  of  invisible  passengers — people 
who  take  to  their  state-rooms,  and  are  unseen  from 
the  port  of  departure  until  the  vessel  makes  land 
again.  The  captain  assured  us  that  these  mysterious 
personages  were  not  uncommon,  and  that  at  Havre 
we  would  meet  unknown  faces ;  or  tall  ladies,  in  straw 
bonnets  with  green  vails,  would  wander  out,  like 
sickly  ghosts  who  had  been  deprived  of  exercise 
for  a  century  or  so;  that  on  one  occasion,  after  a 
protracted,  stormy  trip  of  more  than  twenty  days, 
he  had  dropped  anchor  at  Havre,  and  was  about 
going  ashore  to  report  no  passengers,  when  he  met 
in  the  cabin  a  long-haired,  unshaved,  cadaverous- 
looking  customer,  who  asked  solemnly  to  be  shown 
out  of  the  boat.  He  had  a  misty  recollection  of  a 
very  neat-looking  fleshy  gentleman  coming  aboard 
at  New  York,  but  is  in  doubt  to  this  hour  as  to  the 
identity. 

We  had  a  state-room  full  of  such  odd  creatures 
near  us,  and,  of  course,  sleeping  all  day  made  them 


42  BELL     SMITH    ABROAD. 

miserably  wakeful  during  the  night,  and  gave  time 
for  the  practice  of  various  melodies,  among  which 
the  whooping-cough  seemed  to  be  the  favorite.  One 
morning,  I  heard  honest  old  Jonathan,  the  steward, 
inquiring  kindly  as  to  the  health  of  one  who  was 
forever  complaining  of  a  seventeen-year  headache. 
She  responded,  despairingly: 

"  Oh,  ver  bad ;  all  ze  night  I  vas  more  seek  zan 
avair;  ze  head,  ze  back,  ze  limbs,  so  bad  I  can  not 
tell  "— 

"Would  you  like  some  breakfast,  madam?" 

"  Don't  know  ;  ver  sick  wiz  ze  sea  mal — vot  ave 
you?" 

"  Get  you  any  thing  nice,  madam." 

"Ave  you  ze  beefsteak?" 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"  I  takes  ze  beefsteak.  Ave  you  ze  mouton  chop 
— ze  potate — ze  tomates — wiz  ze  cafe  and  hot  cake  ?" 

"  Any  thing  else  you  would  like  to  have,  madam?" 

"Ah,  mon  Dieu !  I  cannot  tell;_I  ver  indispose. 
Stop,  gargon ;  after  leetle  bit.  bring  ze  lobstair,  cow- 
cumber,  and  ze  oil." 

On  the  morning  of  the  eleventh  day  out,  I  came 
up  on  deck  to  greet  a  most  beautiful  day,  and  see 
the  rugged  coast  of  old  England ;  for  we  were  in 
the  channel.  My  heart  did  throb  to  see,  for  the 
first  time,  the  cliffs  of  that,  to  us,  classic  land.  mid 


A  T     S  E  A  .  43 

loved  in  spite  of  ourselves.  I  found  my  mind 
listening  to  the  world's  song  of  praise,  as  uttered 
by  Campbell : 

"  Her  march  is  on  the  mountain  wave, 
Her  home  is  on  the  deep." 

We  took  one  of  her  water-dogs  on  board,  in  the 
shape  of  a  pilot,  who  was  immediately  surrounded 
by  the  passengers,  and  robbed  of  a  "  Times "  news- 
paper. We  had  been  eleven  days  out,  and  thirsting 
for  news,  expecting  to  find  Europe  in  a  war  over 
Turkey.  The  paper  was  read  aloud  by  one,  while 
the  others  listened  in  breathless  attention.  The 
intelligence  sounded  very  familiar;  and  at  last,  on 
examining  the  date,  the  journal  was  discovered  to 
be  aged  only  three  weeks.  Indignation  was  bound- 
less at  the  stupid  pilot. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  our  captain,  with  a  humorous 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  "I  am  astonished  at  you;  he  is 
the  most  intelligent  pilot  I  ever  met  in  these  waters." 

The  next  day  we  were  before  Havre,  too  late  to 
take  advantage  of  the  tide,  and  so  we  were  shipped, 
pell-mell,  into  a  nondescript  craft,  very  like — if  such 
a  thing  were  possible — a  cooking-stove  afloat.  For 
three  weary  hours  were  we  paddled  back  and  forward 
before  the  uninviting  town,  having  no  choice  between 
resting  in  the  sun,  and  brojling  on  the  boilers.  We 


44  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

sadly  contemplated  the  long  beach,  where  some 
donkeys  stood,  evidently  ennuied  to  death,  and  re- 
garding us  as  bores  of  the  largest  magnitude,  until 
at  last  the  order  was  given  to  "bout  cooking-stove," 
and  the  nondescript  snorted  and  kicked  through  the 
water,  over  the  mud,  into  a  sort  of  canal,  where  it 
gave  its  last  gasp  at  the  foot  of  some  ladders  leading 
up  over  a  stone  work,  that  looked  and  smelled  as 
if  erected  in  Adam's  extreme  youth. 

"Dear  me,"  said  one  of  the  six  bearers  of  dis- 
patches, "  were  this  New  York,  now,  we  would 
have  been  up  in  town,  and  paid  a  bill,  three 
hours  since." 

From  the  end  of  the  ladders  we  were  dropped 
into  the  custom-house,  with  our  baggage,  and,  to  a 
vociferous  demand  for  immediate  search,  were  politely 
informed  that  nothing  could  be  done  until  three 
o'clock.  This  was  too  much  for  American  patience. 
Three  hours  already  gone,  three  more  to  lose,  and, 
in  the  meantime,  miss  the  afternoon  train  to  Paris. 
Impossible.  The  six  bearers  of  dispatches  had 
rights — the  six  bearers  of  dispatches  would  maintain 
their  rights ;  and,  to  this  effect,  flourished  such  quan- 
tities of  official  papers,  with  such  huge  seals,  in  the 
face  of  the  gens  d'arme,  that  that  functionary  wavered. 
At  this  important  moment,  a  French  minister,  one 
of  our  passengers,  and  ji  long  Spanish  priest,  came 


A  T     8  E  A .  45 

to  the  rescue.  The  functionary  gave  way,  opened 
the  door,  in  went  the  minister  and  priest,  in  rushed 
the  six  bearers  of  dispatches,  and  with  a  terrible 
tumult  the  whole  crowd  followed,  and  the  examina- 
tion began.  Inside  the  uproar  beggars  description. 
The  alliance  between  the  foreign  minister  and  six 
bearers  of  dispatches  abruptly  terminated—  each  party 
determined  to  have  the  precedence.  The  minister, 
backed  by  the  priest  and  servants,  came  up  gallantly 
to  the  combat.  With  a  long  trunk  between  them, 
that  looked  as  if  it  might  contain  the  mortal  remains 
of  a  brother  Jesuit,  plenipo  and  church  militant 
charged  along  the  line ;  the  six  bearers  of  dispatches, 
armed  with  carpet-sacks  and  boxes,  bore  down 
bravely.  Victory  hung  doubtful.  At  length,  min- 
isterial dignity  stumbled  and  fell,  dragging  down 
the  church  behind  a  large  pile  of  luggage,  where, 
for  the  space  of  three  minutes,  they  were  invisible. 
The  country  was  safe — the  six  bearers  of  dispatches 
were  triumphant. 

After  our  luggage  was  inspected,  our  passports 
had  to  be  vised ,  and  this  caused  another  stupid 
delay ;  but,  while  waiting  for  this  important  proce- 
dure, D.  had  our  heaviest  trunks  forwarded  to  Paris. 
D.'s  French  not  being  of  that  practical  nature  which 
permits  him  to  converse  fluently  on  all  topics,  I  had 
to  aot  as  interpreter  on  these  occasions.  "We  paid 


46  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

two  prices  to  have  our  things  carried  to  the  dep6t ; 
and  when  about  leaving,  to  get  a  hasty  dinner,  as 
we  had  determined  to  proceed  ^as  far  as  Eouen  that 
night,  the  hack  man  held  out  his  hand,  and  said  : 

"  Quelque  chose  pour  le  pauvre  garyon." 

"  What  does  he  say  now,  Bell  ?" 

"  Something  for  the  poor  boy." 

"  Must  I  give  him  something?"  turning  to  Mrs  T. 

"Yes — no — if  you   want  to.     Do  as  you  please." 

"  Oh,  very  well.  I'll  give  him  something — I  '11  give 
him  my  blessing.  Gargon,  may  Heaven's  choicest 
gifts  be  upon  you,  gargon ;  may  you  prosper  in  all 
your  outgoings  and  incomings,  in  all  your  uprisings 
and  downsittings,  now  and  forever,  my  sweet-favored 
gargon." 

Leaving  gargon  astonished  at  this  oration,  de- 
livered with  great  gravity,  we  proceeded  to  take  a 
hasty  view  of  Havre,  which  looks,  D.  said,  as  if  it 
had  gone  crazy  some  centuries  since,  and  been  for- 
gotten. 


a  very  common   church,  amusing 
ourselves  with  the  narrow,  ram- 
bling streets  full  of  queer  people 
— who  acted  as  if  not  possessed 
of  good  sense — and   queerer  ve- 
hicles,  pulled   by  one    or    three 
horses  tandem,   and  for    all  the 
world  resembling  rheumatic  alli- 
gators,  mad   with    excitement — 
after    admiring    the    neat     little 
markets,  we  found  ourselves  pos- 
sessed of  an   afternoon,    and   so 
determined  to  take  the  evening 


48  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

train  as  far  as  Kouen.  The  express  for  Paris  would 
reach  Kouen  the  next  day,  about  ten  o'clock,  A.  M. ; 
so  that  we  would  be  blessed  with  a  night's  rest, 
and  a  glance  at  that  ancient  city.  "We  found  at 
our  hotel  the  six  bearers  of  dispatches,  and  they, 
too,  had  made  the  most  of  Havre,  and,  in  high 
disgust,  were  prepared  to  go  on  with  us.  Their 
opinions  of  this  incorporated  antiquity,  variously 
expressed,  happily  were  not  understood  by  its  ancient 
burghers ;  otherwise,  their  official  dignity  might  not 
have  been  respected.  What  most  astonished  and 
annoyed  our  friends  was  to  find,  as  they  expressed 
it,  that  the  stupidities  could  not  understand  their 
own  language.  Two  of  the  diplomatic  corps  had 
addressed  themselves  to  the  labor  of  obtaining  a 
knowledge  of  French,  and,  indeed,  during  the  long 
voyage  of  the  Franklin  they  had  devoted  consider- 
able time  to  investigating  and  acquiring  that  elegant 
and  somewhat  complicated  tongue.  They  were 
prepared,  so  we  were  assured,  to  act  as  interpreters 
on  all  occasions ;  but  strange  to  say,  these  Havreens 
had  such  a  wretched  patois  they  could  not  be  under- 
stood at  all,  even  when  assisted  by  the  most  energetic 
pantomime. 

The  country  between  Havre  and  Paris  appeared 
to  me  a  continuous  garden — so  delicious  in  its  golden 
fields,  green  hills,  and  cool  dells — so  quiet  under  the 


PARIS.  49 

bright  summer  sun — so  happy  with  its  farm-houses 
and  villages,  its  brown  reapers,  merry  lasses,  browsing 
cattle,  winding  roads,  and  shady  avenues,  that  I 
seemed  flying  by  railroad  through  "As  you  like  it* 
and  I  drank  in  the  hay-scented  air,  that  affected  me 
as  if  the  vineyards  had  filled  the  very  atmosphere 
with  intoxication.  I  clapped  my  hands  and  laughed 
like  a  child,  exclaiming — "  Beautiful  France — sunny 
France — land  of  purple  grapes  and  romance,"  and 
longed  to  roll  into  every  dell,  or  bask  forever  in 
some  patch  of  flower-encircled  sunlight.  But,  look- 
ing back  now  in  sober  moments,  I  recognize  the 
effect  of  contrast  between  ship-board  and  the  first 
sight  of  the  blessed  country.  I  suppose  the  districts 
I  ran  through  are  carefully  cultivated,  and  very 
beautiful,  but  not  a  beauty  such  as  I  really  am 
enraptured  over.  I  have  now  a  recollection  of 
Nature  somewhat  too  closely  cropped,  too  closely 
ploughed  upon,  and  save,  indeed,  that  she  had  heaved 
up  hills,  and  sent  the  water  sparkling  beyond  control, 
the  whole  resembled,  fearfully  strong,  the  Dutch 
gardens  about  Cincinnati.  My  own,  my  native  land, 
with  its  inland  seas,  great  forests,  and  plunging 
cataracts,  has  all  that  I  dream  over  and  love  of 
the  picturesque  and  beautiful. 

"We  arrived  in   Rouen   about  dark,   and,   having 
neglected  to  learn   the  name   of  some  good    hotel, 


50  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

had  a  nice  time  at  the  station-house.  The  six  bearers 
of  dispatches  had  opinions,  and  were  loud  in  ex- 
pressing them ;  but  as  no  two  were  the  same,  and 
each  positive  in  his  own,  we  had  the  promise  of  an 
exciting  debate.  Our  conduct  was  absurd  in  the 
extreme.  We  would  all  crowd  into  an  omnibus, 
apparently  unanimous ;  then,  suddenly,  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  some  one,  all  rush  out  again,  to  another, 
greatly  to  the  astonishment  and  indignation  of  other 
passengers,  and  Eouen  inhabitants.  We  were 
about,  vociferously,  to  get  out  of  the  third,  wrhen 
the  vehicle  drove  off — not  with  all  of  us,  however. 
The  bearer  of  dispatches  to  the  Legatiom  at  Berlin 
fell  from  the  steps,  with  the  declaration  that  he 
would  not  be  taken  to  such  a  den.  But,  upon 
second  thoughts,  and  a  hard  run,  that  dignitary 
joined  us  again. 

The  Hotel  d'Angleterre  is  good:  that  is,  we  had 
comfortable  beds,  in  rooms  not  quite  at  an  exhaust- 
ing height ;  meals  so  so,  and  the  landlord  did  not 
ask'  us  for  all  the  money  we  had.  I  may  do  the 
place  injustice;  but  the  night  I  passed  under  its 
roof  was  wretched.  The  fatigue  and  excitement 
of  the  day  were  too  much  for  me,  and,  after  resting 
five  minutes,  I  fbund  it  impossible  to  move.  After 
supper,  I  hastened  to  bed,  thinking  quiet  was  all  I 
needed.  I  was  too  tired  to  sleep,  teo  sick,  indeed 


PARIS.  51 

and  hour  after  hour  I  watched  the  night  steal 
drearily  away.  Hotel  d'Angleterre  is  on  the  quay, 
and  on  the  quay  the  citizens  of  Eouen,  male  and 
female,  are  pleased  to  promenade.  I  heard,  until 
midnight,  the  continuous  tramp,  tramp,  mingled  with 
voluble  chatterings,  until  I  was  nearly  mad,  and 
so  earnestly  prayed  for  quiet.  Quiet  came  at  last, 
and  seemed  the  worse.  The  slightest  noise — the 
shutting  of  a  door,  the  step  in  the  hall — sounded 
to  me  like  thunder;  and,  when  sleep  at  last  came 
in  cat-naps,  I  felt  the  bed  roll  under  me,  and  the 
great  room  shake,  with  memories  of  the  ocean.  I 
really  sle^t  about  daylight,  and  was  awakened  at 
eight  with  the  intelligence  that  we  must  set  out 
immediately,  in  search  of  the  ancient  cathedral.  I 
could  not,  and  arranged  with  D.  to  let  me  meet 
the  party  at  the  depot.  The  party  had  two  hours, 
after  rising,  to  look  at  the  cathedral.  One  of  these 
was  lost  in  waiting  for  breakfast,  engaging  carriages, 
seeing  to  the  luggage,  paying  bills ;  and  at  nine  the 
sight-hunters  set  out. 

"We  met  at  the  station-house,  five  minutes  before 
the  train  from  Havre  rolled  in.  D.  and  the  diplo- 
n  uic  circle  were,  as  usual,  in  an  excited  state  of 
indignation.  A  merry  twinkle  about  Lucy's  eyes 
revealed  the  fact  that  there  was  something  unheard, 
worth  relating.  I  in  vain  questioned  the  gentlemen — 


52  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

they  evaded,  so  as  to  make  me  none  the  wiser. 
Their  efforts  at  concealment  were  decidedly  diplo- 
matic. At  last,  out  came  the  fact.  To  use  their  own 
phraseology,  "  The  American  people  had  been  sold." 
After  an  hour's  violent  exertion,  much  expostulation, 
and  attempts  at  an  understanding,  they  had  left 
Rouen  without  seeing  any  thing.  Lucy  afterwards 
gave  me  a  very  amusing  account  of  the  morning's 
adventure,  which  the  officials,  together  with  D., 
gravely  admitted,  with  a  protest  at  intervals.  They 
had  engaged  two  carriages,  and,  after  many  speeches 
and  some  pantomLne,  with  the  drivers  in  search  of 
the  cathedral — the  cathedral  old  as  the,  hills  and 
worthy  a  sea  voyage  to  behold — they  rode  quite  a 
distance,  and  at  last  halted  before  a  very  beautiful 
building,  but  of  yesterday  build,  undoubtedly.  Our 
friends  refused,  positively,  to  enter  the  church,  and, 
surrounding  the  drivers,  expostulated  and  explained. 
The  visitors  talked,  the  drivers  talked,  several  -by- 
standers in  uniform  and  blouses,  soldiers  and  citizens, 
talked  as  loud  as  their  lungs  would  permit.  In 
fact,  the  less  they  were  understood,  the  louder 
they  shouted,  until  one  of  the  drivers,  driven 
perfectly  wild  by  the  assailants,  uttered,  with  great 
volubility,  a  shower  of  "  Oui,  oui's,"  and  jumped 
on  his  box;  the  assailants  got  in,  and  with  nu- 
merous "pauvre  gargons"  hanging  on,  demand- 


PARIS.  53 

ing  sous    for  their    valuable   assistance,  they  drove 
off. 

When  the  voitures  again  stopped,  they  found 
themselves  in  front  of  a  long,  low,  straggling  row 
of  stone  buildings,  as  much  like  a  cathedral  as  a 
cow-pen.  This  they  refused  to  enter — some  pro- 
nouncing it  a  prison,  others  a  palace  ;  but,  in  reality, 
it  contained  the  courts  of  justice — but  unanimously 
decided  by  the  party  "a  humbug,  bore,  stuff;"  and 
again  the  vociferous  altercation  began.  This  time  it 
had  in  it  a  good  deal  of  decided,  clear,  hearty, 

English  abuse.     At  last,  Mr.  ,  of  Virginia,  one 

of  the  principal  interpreters  on  former  occasions,  said  : 

"  Now,  stand  back,  all  of  you ;  you  only  deafen 
the  fellows  to  no  purpose ;  let  me  speak  to  them ;" 
and  speaking,  or  rather  shouting,  with  tremendous 
emphasis,  he  exclaimed : 

"  Vouiez  vous  aller  nous  a  quelque  chose  vieux  ?"* 

The  response  to  this  was,  first,  a  very  solemn 
stupid  look  of  inquiry ;  then  a  light  stole  out  in  the 
shape  of  a  grin,  and  gradually  spread  over  the  face, 
until  it  resembled  a  full  moon ;  whereupon  the  other 
interpreter,  the  honorable  bearer  of  dispatches  to  St. 
Petersburg,  having  consulted  a  pocket  dictionary, 
came  at  the  drivers,  and  in  somewhat  the  same 
manner,  and,  if  any  thing,  in  a  louder  voice,  said: 

*  Will  you  to  go  us  at  something  old  ? 


54  BELL    SMITH    ABKOAD. 

"  Nous  avoir  besoin  voir  un — un* — what  tlie  devil 
is  cathedral  in  French.  Un — un — comprenez  vous?" 

The  answer  to  this,  after  quite  an  oration  in  his 
native  language  by  one  of  the  drivers,  seemed  to  be 
an  assent,  and  into  the  hacks  again  hastened  the 
gentlemen,  in  search  of  an  old  cathedral.  When 
again  the  carriages  stopped,  they  were  under  a  stone 
arch  thrown  over  the  street,  of  not  very  astounding 
dimensions,  but  covered  with  figures  carved  against 
the  under  side — an  object  of  intense  interest,  doubt- 
less, to  one  acquainted  with  its  history  and  design; 
but  to  our  friends,  like  the  other  works  of  art  before 
seen,  a  disappointment,  not  worth  the  trouble — 
another  "sale,"  as  they  expressed  it. 

Again  the  clamor  began,  greatly  aggravated  by 
the  discovery  that  they  had  but  twenty  minutes 
before  the  arrival  of  the  cars.  They  probably  would 
have  ended  the  discussion  by  pounding  the  drivers, 
had  not  that  rare  bird,  a  good-natured  Englishman, 
come  to  the  rescue,  stating  that  the  drivers  asserted 
that  the  landlord  of  Hotel  d'Angleterre  had  requested 
them  to  drive  to  these  points,  and  they  had  taken 
them  in  their  order,  so  as  to  save  time,  but  were 
now  ready  to  drive  to  whatever  place  the  gentlemen 
might  request.  This  was  clear  enough,  and  would 
have  ended  all  difficulties  at  once ;  but  Mr.  , 

*  We  too  have  need  to  see  a . 


PARIS.  55 

bad  heard  from  some  source  that  in  Rouen 
might  be  seen  a  famous  monument  to  the  Maid  of 
Orleans,  insisted,  that,  as  the  time  was  not  sufficient 
to  justify  an  attempt  at  the  cathedral,  they  should 
devote  it  to  seeing  the  monument.  Some  seconded 
this  proposition,  others  opposed ;  and  so  five  minutes 
of  their  precious  time  were  lost.  At  last,  the  majority 
decided  for  the  monument,  and  away  they  all  went. 

The  saddest  disappointment  was  the  last.  The 
gentlemen  in  search  of  startling  antiquities,  drew  up 
before  a  fountain,  surmounted  by  a  black,  rude  mass 
of  stone,  that  looked,  Mr. said,  "  like  the  God- 
dess of  Liberty  in  reduced  circumstances,  chained  to 
a  rock."  They  gazed  in  mute  astonishment  at  this 
specimen  of  the  dark  ages — looked  round  at  each 
other,  and  then  burst  into  roars  of  laughter.  It  was 
too  ridiculous.  Their  merriment  was  of  short  du- 
ration ;  for  the  discovery  was  made  that  they  hau 
just  five  minutes  in  which  to  get  to  the  cars.  They 
left  the  fossil  maid  and  splashing  fountain  in  great 
haste. 

"Get  in,"  said  Mr.  ,  faithful  and  honorable 

bearer  of  dispatches  to  our  Charge  at  Naples; 
"  hurrah,  now,  and  hurry  up ;  these  cars  run  to  the 
minute.  Jump  in,  I  '11  move  'em." 

Saying  which,  he  mounted  upon  the  box,  took  the 
whip  from  the  driver — D.  followed  his  example,  and 


56  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

away  they  went,  at  a  harum-scarum  gallop,  through 
Rouen — down  one  street,  up  another — making  people 
run  for  their  lives,  as  they  galloped  round  corners, 
and  fixed  the  astounded  stare  of  the  quiet  citizens. 
At  the  corner  nearest  the  depot,  one  of  the  carriages 
took  a  fruit  stand  of  an  old  lady,  and  plums,  apricots, 
peaches,  and  melons,  went  rolling  in  every  direction. 
I  was  watching  anxiously  for  the  party,  and  saw 
them  dash  into  the  court  of  the  depot  with  an  uproar 
•worthy  the  departure  of  six  bearers  of  dispatches. 

Rouen  may  have  an  old  cathedral — I  believe  none 
of  our  party  propose  to  dispute  that  fact.  That  it 
may  have  a  very  old  cathedral,  every  way  worthy 
the  attention  of  antiquary,  architect,  and  artist,  we 
•will  not  doubt.  Guide-books  are  not  to  be  disputed, 
unless  they  speak  of  hotels ;  works  of  history  are  to 
be  relied  on ;  but,  ask  no  honorable  bearer  of  dis- 
patches, no  one  of  our  party,  for  the  old  cathedral 
of  Rouen.  To  such  it  is  an  unpleasant  fiction — tha 
base  fabric  of  a  dream ;  but  that  statue — Joan  of 
Arc — we  can  criticize.  It  we  have  seen,  walked 
round,  and  closely  inspected ;  and  let  no  man, 
woman,  or  child,  after  this,  utter  aught  against  Per- 
sico's  group  of  Columbus  and  Squaw,  for  Joan  of 
Rouen  is  somewhat  worse. 

We  took  the  second-class  cars  for  Paris,  and  found 
them  more  comfortable  than  the  best  on  the  Camden 


PA  BIS.  57 

and  Amboy  railroad.  Each  car  is  divided  into  three 
coaches,  capable  of  holding  fourteen  persons,  one- 
half  with  their  backs  to  the  locomotive ;  a  lamp  was 
burning  in  the  top  of  each  car,  and  of  it  we  soon 
had  an  explanation.  In  a  few  moments  we  were 
plunging  through  a  tunnel,  and  had  under-ground 
railway,  it  seemed  to  me,  half  the  distance.  But  the 
care,  certainty,  and  comfort  of  these  railways  are 
beyond  all  parallel.  No  accidents  here,  no  rushing 
into  open  draws,  no  collisions,  or  running  over 
animals,  or  oflf  the  track.  It  seems  something  like 
tyranny,  at  first,  the  way  in  which  officials  bow  you 
into  your  places,  where  you  remain  per  force.  But 
you  realize  a  sense  of  security — a  comfort  that  is 
worth  all  ill-regulated  freedom  I  ever  witnessed. 
These  officials  are  in  uniform,  with  the  name  of  the 
office  worked  upon  the  collar  of  each  coat,  and 
their  patience  seems  boundless.  No  pressure,  no 
absurdity  or  wanton  opposition,  can  draw  them  from 
the  mild  firmness  wrhich  seems  a  second  nature. 
"  Monsieur  will  please  take  his  place." 
Monsieur,  an  Englishman,  wras  looking  with  great 
indignation  at  a  fleshy  old  lady  who  had  seated  her- 
self next  him,  and,  from  some  cause,  very  objection- 
able to  him ;  and  so  he  had  taken  himself  out.  The 
answer  to  this  mild  command  was  some  voluble 

bad  French,  mingled  with  English  swearing. 

3* 


58  BELL     SMITH    ABROAD. 

"  Monsieur  will  please  take  his  place." 
But  Monsieur  still  declined,  and  the  door  was 
closed,  leaving  the  malcontent  standing  on  the  plat- 
form. I  could  not  see  where  he  went ;  but  directly 
the  poor  fellow  returned,  accompanied  by  an  officer, 
and  in  a  very  sullen  manner  took  the  place  first 
occupied.  All  this  lasted  but  a  limited  time, 
and  so  quiet  that  but  few  of  our  passengers  noticed 
the  transaction. 

Mr.  C.  gave  me  much  valuable  information  in 
connection  with  these  roads.  The  Government  has 
a  large  interest  in  them,  and  the  laws  are  not  very 
severe,  but  strictly  enforced.  Every  accident  is 
taken  as  proof  positive  of  criminal  negligence,  and, 
unless  shown  to  be  otherwise,  punished.  My  friend 
tli ought  the  laws,  when  there  are  any,  with  us,  too 
stringent.  "When  an  accident  occurs,  which  endan- 
gers the  lives  of  officers  as  well  as  passengers,  to  say 
they  must  be  hung,  or  imprisoned  for  life,  is  to  make 
a  provision  impossible  to  be  executed ;  and  in  many 
instances,  where  the  casualty  was  the  result  of  gross 
negligence,  courts  have  permitted  the  guilty  to  go 
unpunished,  rather  than  sustain  an  absurd  law.  I 
do  not  know  sufficiently  well  the  facts,  to  say  how 
correct  these  conclusions  are,  but  they  sound  reason- 
able. I  know  that  the  insecurity  at  home  is  frightful. 
I  left  Cincinnati  for  New  York,  and  near  Dayton 


PARIS.  59 

we  ran  over  a  cow,  and  off  the  track,  escaping 
with  life  only,  from  the  fact  of  the  ground  being 
unusually  level.  A  short  distance  from  Bellefontaine 
we  passed  a  huge  locomotive  that  had  struck  a  fallen 
telegraph  post,  and  fairly  leaped  from  the  road, 
falling  a  frightful  wreck,  and  killing  the  engineer. 
On  the  lake,  we  narrowly  escaped  a  collision  with 
a  returning  boat.  At  Auburn,  in  New  York,  we 
ran  through  a  burning  station-house,  a  portion  of 
the  track  itself  on  fire,  and  the  flames  on  all  sides. 
The  conductor,  without  consultation,  ran  the  train 
through  at  a  frightful  speed.  Since  leaving  New 
York,  at  sea  and  here,  I  have  met  with  no  approach 
to  accident.  Since  my  arrival  in  Paris,  a  hundred 
thousand  men,  women,  and  children,  have  been  con- 
veyed to  and  from  Versailles,  in  one  Sunday,  by 
railroad,  and  no  confusion,  no  accident,  not  a  second's 
delay.  I  may  not  be  right  as  to  the  causes  oP  *he 
difference,  but  I  know  the  facts.  At  home,  the 
traveler  puts  his  neck  in  the  keeping  of  cows, 
uncertain  bridges,  and  reckless  officers;  elsewhere, 
there  is  a  regard  for  life  and  limb,  as  well  as  money. 
Have  that  railroad  between  New  York  and  Phila- 
delphia any  where  else  than  where  it  is,  and  its 
respected  President  would  be  laboring  usefully  in  a 
prison,  and  its  conductors  and  engineers  expelled 
and  disgraced.  This  appears  harsh  language ;  but, 


60  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

while  I  remember  the  suffering  caused  me  by  an 
accident,  and  the  consequent  delay  near  Philadelphia, 
I  could,  with  good  heart,  utter  more. 

I  was  ill  with  fatigue  during  the  ride  from  Rouen 
to  Paris,  and  took  little  note  of  the  handsome  scenery 
of  the  Seine.  The  country  is  very  beautiful,  and 
we  regret,  now,  not  taking  a  boat  and  ascending 
slowly,  as  we  would  have  surely  done,  to  Paris. 
But  we  had  enough  of  steamboating.  I  dropped 
into  a  feverish  sleep,  between  D.  and  Lucy,  and 
had  home  come  up  with  its  dear,  dear,  old  familiar 
voices.  Oh !  how  clear  and  sweet  the  visions  do 
start  up  in  those  seconds  of  feverish  sleep  I  One 
instant  I  was  listening  to  the  loved  ones  at  home, 
each  voice  dwelling  so  pleasantly  in  my  ears;  and- 
the  next,  the  cry  of  "Paris"  awakened  me  to  a  sight 
of  a  clear  sunlight  bathing  the  roofs  of  a  vast  city, 
above  which  towered  the  Arch  of  Triumph.  A 
plunge  into  a  tunnel,  a  shrill  shriek  from  the  loco- 
motive, and  we  were  in  the  gay  city  of  a  thousand 
associations  and  one  great  name. 


TV. 


tot  Stl  ^  i^-tii. 

FELT  the  influence  of  a 
strange  place  long  before  I 
awoke,  and  dreams  had  so 
fashioned  themselves,  that,  when 
opening  my  eyes,  to  look  from 
the  tented,  hangings  of  an  ele- 
gant French  bed,  it  was  not  to 
be  surprised  at  the  uncarpeted 
floors — waxed  and  polished  un- 
til they  resembled  marble — the 
many  mirrors,  singularly  artistic 
appearance  of  the  paper-hangings,  the  carved  ceil- 
ings, scenic  paintings,  little  marble  mantel-pieces, 
surmounted  by  such  a  mass  .of  gilt  and  burnished 
brass  candelabras,  vases,  and  card-racks,  one  could 
scarcely  recognize  the  eternal  little  French  clock, 
which  ticked  out  its  fussy  life  in  the  center.  All  the 
adornments  and  utilities  made  the  room  as  much 
resemble  an  American  chamber  as  a  well-dressed 


62  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

French    lady   does  an   American  woman    done   up 
in  the  same  style. 

The  hasty  beating  of  the  little  time-piece  at  the 
hour  of  ten,  echoed  from  another  in  the  adjoining 
room  by  a  single  stroke  in  its  companion,  showing 
a  difference  of  only  half  an  hour,  reminded  me  that 
it  was  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  time  to 
get  up.  This  passion  for  clocks  is  one  of  the  "  mys- 
teries of  Paris"  to  me.  Go  where  you  will — in  every 
room,  the  lowest  to  the  most  ornate,  and  you  find 
the^e  little  satires  on  time.  Except  to  dispose  of  the 
weary  hours — destroy,  annihilate,  if  possible — our 
gay  Parisians  have  no  use  for  works  of  art  to 
measure  the  flight  of  Time.  And  in  proof  of  this, 
no  two  of  these  in  all  Paris  ran  together,  or  are 
unanimous  upon  any  minute  or  hour  in  the  day. 
Yet  here  they  are  of  all  conceivable  designs.  We 
have  the  beautiful  clock,  with  Venus,  or  Apollo, 
or  both,  rising  from  a  sea  of  gilt  Cupids ;  we  have 
the  warlike  clocks,  made  up  of  cannon  and  swords, 
and  a  miniature  Napoleon;,  then  you  can  see  the 
learned  clock,  and  the  scientific  clock,  and  the  pa- 
triotic clock ;  no  !  these  last  are  suppressed.  Louis 
Napoleon's  Government  made  a  descent  upon  all  such 
symbols,  including  pipes  of  Liberty,  caps,  canes  ditto, 
red  neckcloths,  and  superfine  blouses.  A  Frenchman 
shall  not  have  liberty  rung  in  his  ears — he  shal] 


FIRST     DAY    IN    PARIS.  63 

not  smoke  over  it — he  shall  not  clothe  himself  in 
symbols  thereof — but  believe  in  small  Napoleons, 
and  do  him  reverence.  But  to  return  to  the  time- 
pieces. At  first  glance,  one  would  see  in  this  mul- 
tiplicity of  time-pieces  a  resemblance  to  our  own 
people.  But  the  thought  dissipates  the  resemblance. 
An  educated  American  finds  in  his  clock  a  dear 
friend,  who  gives  to  him  sad,  yet  improving  thoughts. 
A  thrifty  commoner  writes  "  Time  is  money"  on 
the  face  of  his  tick-tick,  and  sets  his  business  by  it. 
But  French  clocks  keep  no  correct  time.  They  are 
purely  ornamental — generally  excuses  for  setting  up 
a  Yenus. 

My  own  watch,  as  well  as  appetite,  said  breakfast ; 
so  I  rang  the  bell,  and  Monsieur  Charles  responded, 
by  bowing  himself  in,  graceful  as  a  dancing-master. 
To  this  hour  I  cannot  determine  whether  Charles 
was  the  proprietor  of  Hotel  de  Tours,  or  its  gargon. 
lie  was  shrewd  enough  for  the  one,  and  serviceable 
as  the  other.  My  order  given,  he  seized  a  diminutive 
table,  with  one  hand  persuaded  it  to  the  middle  of 
our  sitting-room,  threw  over  it  a  snow-white  table- 
cloth, rushed  wildly,  yet  noiselessly  out,  returned 
with  plates  for  three  diminutive  war-clubs,  which 
we  recognized  as  bread,  and  in  twenty  minutes, 
American  time,  from  the  giving  of  my  order,  the 
breakfast  was  smoking  on  the  board.  I  beg  pardon 


64  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

for  the  misnomer ;  it  was  only  a  suggestion  of  a 
breakfast  to  a  hungry  American.  The  bread  ap- 
peared as  war-clubs,  but  not  of  a  size  to  knock 
down  a  stout  appetite.  The  butter  pats  were  the 
most  delicate  hints  at  butter  ever  thrown  out;  the 
fowl  was  but  a  Miss-chicken  of  very  slender,  genteel 
proportions ;  while  the  beef-steak  could  never  have 
been  missed  by  the  noble  ox,  its  former  proprietor. 
He  might  have  been  at  that  very  moment  roaming 
over  pleasant  fields,  quite  unconscious  that  a  homeo- 
pathic portion  of  himself  was  before  three  dis- 
mayed and  hungry  Americans. 

"Monsieur  Charles,"  said  D.,  with  eminent  solem- 
nity, "if  compatible  with  the  larder  of  Hotel  de 
Tours,  we  would  like  to  have  some  butter.  I  don't 
mean  several  pounds,  such  as  a  Western  American 
is  accustomed  to,  but  sufficient — sufficient,  Monsieur 
Charles — and,  Monsieur  Charles,  another  fowl — say 
the  twin-sister  of  this  late  unfortunate — and,  Mon- 
sieur Charles,  if  it  would  not  create  a  famine  in  the 
Empire,  cause  barricades  to  rise,  and  a  Government 
go  down,  we  would  like  to  have  a  little  more  bread, 
and  another  beef-steak." 

This,  translated  into  French,  brought  forth,  first 
a  stare  of  astonishment,  then  the  viands.  The  break- 
fast, with  these  additions,  was  excellent.  True,  we 
missed  the  light  biscuits,  the  hot  cakes,  corn-bread, 


FIRST    DAY    IN    PARIS.  65 

and  the  many  substantial  articles  of  an  American 
breakfast.  How  these  French  manage  to  live  on  the 
shadowy  trifles  here  called  food,  I  cannot  make  out; 
it  is  another  mystery  of  Paris.  I  am  satisfied  the 
want  of  substance  is  working  a  degeneration.  The 
French  will  never  be  free,  or  capable  of  self-govern- 
ment, until  they  suppress  soups,  and  strengthen 
themselves  on  beef,  corn-cakes,  buckwheats,  and 
abundance  of  the  best  vegetables. 

After  breakfast,  D.  went  in  search  of  Eobert  M. 
(more  familiar  to  us  as  Dr.  Bob),  a  long-known  and 
much-esteemed  friend  here,  pursuing  his  medical 
studies;  and  Lucy  and  I  began  to  look  around,  to 
define,  if  possible,  our  position.  We  were  attracted 
to  the  window  by  the  sound  of  music,  and,  looking 
into  the  court,  saw  a  boy  playing  on  the  violin, 
accompanied  by  two  girls  with  harps.  They  made 
beautiful  music,  this  youthful  band,  and  sous  showered 
down  from  many  an  open  window.  They  were 
quite  young  in  years,  these  little  musicians,  but  old, 
very  old,  in  expression.  What  hard  faces,  what 
depth  of  experience,  in  the  dark  Italian  eyes  !  They 
had  looked  poverty  and  poverty's  fearful  train  in  the 
face  without  shrinking ;  they  had  shaken  hands,  or 
nestled,  these  children,  in  the  arms  of  Vice  1  and — 
the  boy,  especially — had  beauty  congealed,  petrified 
as  it  were,  in  their  faces ;  while  their  self-possession, 


66  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

ease,  nonchalance,  were  very  striking.  This  court 
of  the  Hotel  de  Tours  seemed  a  favorite  resort  of 
the  wandering  minstrels.  The  youthful  band  was 
followed  by  a  hand-organ,  graced  by  two  trained 
dogs,  and  accompanied  by  a  tambourine ;  the  one 
turned  by  a  woman,  the  other  beat  by  a  man,  sup- 
ported on  a  wooden  leg.  The  dogs,  however,  were 
the  stars — one  held  a  basket  in  his  mouth,  while  the 
other,  seated  on  his  hind  legs,  held  out  his  fore  paws 
in  the  most  prayerful  manner.  The  animals  were 
evidently  bored  by  the  whole  performance.  The 
moment  the  faces  of  the  humans  were  turned  from 
them,  they  would  come  down,  with  a  congratu- 
latory wag  of  their  tails,  and  a  relieved  express- 
ion of  countenance  truly  ridiculous.  Then,  how 
quick  the  poor  things  would  jump  into  position  at 
the  slightest  glance  from  their  hard  taskmasters. 
After  the  dogs,  we  had  a  very  gentlemanly -looking 
youth,  who,  without  instrument  of  any  sort,  sang  a 
variety  of  songs  in  Italian  and  French.  The  shower 
of  copper  was  not  very  abundant,  and  the  pooA 
fellow  withdrew,  looking  very  sad.  After  him  ap- 
peared a  woman,  well  dressed  and  closely  veiled — 
so  closely  veiled,  that  her  face  could  not  be  seen 
at  all — and  sung,  in  a  sweet,  but  very  thin  voice 
like  her  predecessor,  without  instrumental  accom- 
paniment, some  very  sad  airs.  There  was  something 


FIRST    DAY    IN    PARIS.  67 

in  her  appearance  that  brought  up  an  extra  heart- 
ache, and  caused  me  to  throw  her  silver  instead  of 
copper.  Indeed,  such  was  the  effect,  generally  ;  from 
windows  all  round  came  the  money — from  windows, 
in  fact,  that  must  have  been  entirely  out  of  all 
hearing  of  the  voice. 

Hotel  de  Tours,  although  pretending  to  be  built 
about  a  court,  is  a  very  rambling  concern,  and  has 
wings  that  look  as  if  they  were  disposed  to  go 
over  to  other  buildings,  and  be  on  other  streets 
more  retired.  You  can  look  up  and  see  balconies 
quite  wild,  and  dormer  windows  seven  and  eight 
stories  from  the  ground,  inhabited  by  faces  you 
meet  in  the  restaurant  or  dining-room.  One  queer 
little  boxX  of  a  room,  gayly  decorated  with  stained 
glass,  crimson  curtains,  and  painted  bright  as  a  rain- 
bow, was  set  quite  on  the  roof  of  another  building, 
at  a  towering  height  from  the  street.  It  must  have 
taken  the  occupant  the  greater  part  of  his  valuable 
time  to  ascend  and  return  again.  I  would  watch 
him  as  an  astronomer  might  a  very  distant  con- 
stellation ;  he  was  a  spare  old  man,  quite  visible, 
on  clear  days,  to  the  naked  eye,  in  dressing-gown 
and  crimson  cap,  smoking  a  pipe.  By  the  aid  of  a 
powerful  lorgnette,  I  could  make  out  that  this 
heavenly  body  took  snuff,  and  had  an  ennuied  ap- 
pearance, as  if  not  altogether  satisfied  with  his  sphere. 


68  BELL     SMITH     ABHOAD. 

From  the  court  we  turned,  Lucy  and  I,  to  the 
street — our  windows  looked  on  both.  Directly  in 
front  was  the  merchants'  beautiful  exchange,  here 
called  the  Bourse,  and  before  it  a  long  line  of  boxy- 
looking  carriages,  with  the  drivers  half  asleep,  sitting 
above  their  horses.  They  were  evidently  public 
hacks,  but  so  indifferent  to  the  public,  so  little 
caring  whether  x  they  had  a  fare  or  not,  I  could 
scarcely  recognize  them.  The  Crowd  passed  to  and 
fro,  but  no  driver  asked  to  be  employed.  When 
one  was  engaged,  the  indifferent  whip  kept  his 
place,  simply  handing  the  party  something,  a  card 
I  believe,  and  driving  wherever  directed.  Different 
this  from  Washington,  where,  standing  before  the 
ladies'  entrance  to  the  "  National  Hotel,"  we  have 
been  fairly  mobbed  and  hack-driven  through  otfr 
very  brain,  until  nearly  crazed.  This  place,  de  la 
Bourse,  presents  the  nearest  approach  to  business  in 
all  Paris,  and  yet  it  is  as  distinctive  in  its  character 
as  the  more  idle  and  merry  Boulevards.  No  one 
could  possibly  mistake  it  for  any  part  of  New 
York.  There  is  a  fussiness  about  it,  if  one  may 
use  such  an  expression.  The  men  move  quickly, 
but  have  no  earnestness  in  their  faces;  they  seem 
to  be  pretending  to  work.  They  are  too  dressy — 
their  moustaches  and  \vtiiskers  are  quite  too  wel% 
trimmed  for  people  who  really  have  minds,  and 


FIRST    DAY    IN    PARIS.  69 

something  on  them.  You  miss  the  pale,  dyspeptic 
anxiety  of  New  Yorkers,  where  business  has  the 
weight  of  a  world-wide  commerce,  the  destiny  of 
nations  in  keeping,  and  to  the  individual  all  the  un- 
certainty of  gambling.  Well,  the  look  is  a  true 
indication  of  the  facts,  I  am  told. 

France  is  made  up  of  garden  patches,  and  its  com- 
merce and  manufactures  devoted  to  trifles.  French 
business  is  a  sham ;  French  religion  is  a  sham ; 
French  people  are  shams,  vibrating  between  barri- 
cades and  despotism.  While  looking  at  the  triflers 
on  the  pavement,  I  heard  above  the  uproar  of 
voitures,  stages,  street-criers,  and  hand-organs — a 
din  of  voices  sounding  like  the  supernumerary  huz- 
zas of  the  stage  on  the  entrance  of  some  royal 
personage.  I  could  scarcely  credit  that  they  came 
from  the  interior  of  the  beautiful  edifice  before  us ; 
yet  such  was  the  fact.  The  Bourse  was  in  full 
operation  of  a  Frenchman's  idea  of  business.  I  was 
so  impressed  with  it,  that  I  insisted  upon  inspecting 
the  singular  concern  closer ;  and  the  same  day  we 
made  the  visit.  Going  to  the  front,  we  passed  two 
imposing  figures,  cut  in  dark  stone,  and  purporting 
to  represent  the  genius  of  Commerce  and  Peace. 
We  ascended  a  flight  of  steps,  gave  our  parasols  to 
an  attendant  old  lady  as  we  entered  the  door,  and 
proceeded  up  a  winding  flight  ,to  the  gallery.  The 


70  BEL.L    SMITH     ABEO  AD. 

sight  and  sounds  were  startling.  We  looked  dovm 
upon  what  seemed  a  mob  in  black,  running,  shout- 
ing, crowding,  and  gesticulating.  In  a  circular  pen 
near  the  counter,  protected  by  an  iron  rail,  Avere  a 
few  bald  patriarchs,  whose  chief  business  seemed  to 
be  to  receive  slips  of  paper,  and  toss  them  out  again. 
Out  of  the  confusion  I  could  make  nothing.  For 
a  while  I  kept  "  the  run"  of  a  little  fellow  in  a  gray 
coat.  He  darted  through  the  crowd — he  faced  cor- 
pulent men,  and  dared  them  to  the  combat — he 
danced  Avildly — he  seized  slips  of  paper,  and  shook 
them  at  the  pen — he  rushed  back,  and  deliberated 
with  five  or  six,  who  negotiated  by  shaking  their 
fists  and  performing  a  sort  of  shaker  quadrille — he 
flew  back,  but,  "like  Cuff's  speckled  pig,"  he  became 
at  last  too  active  to  count,  and  I  left  in  perfect 
despair.  I  remain  to  this  hour  in  ignorance  of  what 
the  little  fellow'  effected — what  went  up  or  fell,  I 
leave  to  older  heads  to  know  and  to  remember. 

This  is  the  Bourse — the  political  thermometer  of 
France — indeed  of  Europe.  While  on  the  "  Frank- 
lin," in  the  channel,  the  passengers  gathered  round 
the  first  London  Times  we  received,  to  learn  the  news, 
and  hear  whether  Russia  had  marched  on  Turkey. 
One  of  them  said,  "Look  to  the  quotations — IIOAV 
are  the  funds?  That  tells  the  story."  And,  surely 
it  did.  The  slightest  shock  in  the  most  distant 


FIRST     DAY     IN     PARIS.  71 

quarter   of  Europe,    vibrates   in   tliat   noisy   hall,   to 
the  death  of  many  fortunes. 

The  fete  in  honor  of  Napoleon. the  Grand,  as  I  said, 
was  being  prepared  on  a  magnificent  scale,  the  day 
of  our  arrival.  I  had  not  the  health  or  strength  that 
would  justify  an  attempt  to  witness  the  many  ex- 
traordinary exhibitions  going  on  under  the  patronage 
of  the  Government.  In  the  Champ  de  Mars,  for 
instance,  an  old  woman,  said  to  be  nearly  eighty 
years  of  age,  was  announced  to  ascend  from  the 
ground,  on  a  rope  to  the  height  of  seventy  feet. 
Monsieur  Somebody  was  to  come  down  in  a  para- 
chute. A  variety  of  other  amusements  none  but 
the  French  brain  could  invent,  and  nothing  but 
French  hearts  enjoy.  I  regretted,  exceedingly,  not 
being  able  to  see  the  crippled  remnant  of  Napoleon's 
grand  army  at  the  Hotel  des  Invalides  fire  a  salute 
from  the  huge  ordnance  taken  by  their  famous  cap- 
tain in  his  many  victories.  I  could  hear  the  deep 
echoes,  as  Paris  shook  with  their  thunder,  and  saw, 
in  my  mind's  eye,  the  fearful  conflicts  in  which 
kingdoms  crumbled  and  great  events  were  born 
into  the  world.  Can  a  people  be  great,  who  have 
no  schooling  in  great  events  ?  Yet  here  were  thou- 
sands listening  in  mute  indifference,  while  these 
iron  throats  told  over  again  their  fearful  part,  and 
the  very  hands  and  hearts  of  the  old  guard  were  by. 


72  BELL    SMITH    ABBO  AD. 

to  testify  to  their  truth.     With  us,  such  meinentoea 
would  awaken  the  warmest  enthusiasm. 

I  garnered  up  sufficient  strength  to  visit  the  garden 
of  the  Tuileries  in  the  evening.  No  words  can  give 
you  a  correct  idea  of  the  scene.  French  ingenuity, 
having  command  of  unlimited  means,  fairly  exhausted 
itself.  From  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries  to  the  Arch 
of  Triumph,  we  had  one  blaze  of  light,  falling  on 
countless  thousands  of  men,  women,  and  children. 
But  the  strangest  thing  was  the  entire  absence  of  all 
feeling.  On  this  fairy  splendor,  on  the  fireworks,  to 
all  exhibitions  connected  with  the  older  or  youngei 
Emperor,  they  looked  with  utter  indifference.  Save, 
indeed,  a  frightful  rushing  to  and  fro,  one,  judging 
from  the  crowd,  would  scarcely  realize  that  a  great 
fete  in  honor  of  a  famous  man  was  going  on.  Every 
elderly  female  had  a  troop  of  children  under  her 
charge — every  young  or  middle-aged  woman  had  a 
dog.  This  passion  in  France  for  dogs — small  dogs 
— is  really  astonishing.  You  never  find  this  grace- 
ful part  of  modern  Athens  abroad,  without  the  canine 
accompaniment ;  and  to  see  a  mother  drop  her  child  in 
a  crowd,  to  run  after  her  dog,  excites  no  remark  what- 
ever. I  had  little  space  to  note  the  beauty  of  the 
scene,  for  the  brutality  overrun  all  else.  The  crowd, 
in  places  we  had  to  pass,  or  were  forced  into,  was 
fearful — fearful  in  its  absence  of  all  kindly  feeling. 


FIEST    DAY    IN    PARIS.  73 

Women  were  remorselessly  trampled  down  by  men — 
at  least,  such  in  shape — and  men  neither  stupid  from 
drink  nor  intoxicated  from  enthusiasm.  D.  and  Dr. 
Bob  at  last  lifted  me  up,  Awhile  the  rest  of  our  party 
formed  a  guard  on  every  side ;  and,  so  protected,  I 
was  slowly  carried  from  the  Place  de  la  Concorde — 
a  singular  name  for  that  beautiful  space,  where  the 
guillotine  had  once  done  its  fearful  work — and, 
frightened  as  I  was,  I  could  not  look  down  on  the 
great  crowd,  rushing  frantically  to  and  fro  under 
the  blaze  of  the  million  of  lamps,  without  reverting 
to  the  time  when,  on  this  very  spot,  so  many  brave 
spirits  left  a  like  tumult,  "  to  join  the  mighty  throng 
which  crowd  the  dusky  realms  of  death." 

My  gallant  little  band  presented  a  funny  appearance 
on  our  return  to  the  Hotel  de  Tours.  Dr.  Bob's  coat 
had  been  reduced  to  a  spencer,  while  D.  came  to 
parade  with  no  hat  whatever:  others  had  theirs 
crushed  into  a  shape  which  would  have  brought 
them  in  uniform  with  Gen.  Washington's  old  con- 
tinentals. Heaven  bless  our  own  land.  We  may 
not  have  the  politeness  of  the  French ;  but  the  kindly 
feeling  which  gives  existence  to  a  respect  for  woman, 
weighs  more  with  me  than  all  the  empty  forms  and 
set  phrases  which  have  made  this  people  so  famous. 

4 


V. 


&0f.Mlt|  for  y0irgi«|S« 

EENCH  hotels,  like  their  counterparts  over 
5  channel,  are  manned  by  sportsmen, 
,who  take  game  upon  the  wing.  So 
severe  are  the  hunters,  in  their 
.charge  upon  the  unfortunates,  that 
the  game  gets  out  with  a  squeak, 
so  dreadfully  plucked,  so  near 
the  abstract,  that  it  may  be 
thankful,  indeed,  to  escape, 
owning  enough  feathers  to 
fly  with.  None  but  a  bird 
of  passage,  entirely  ignorant 
of  where  to  place  the  sole 
of  his  foot,  ever  fluttered 
into  such  an  ambush;  so 
the  keen  sportsman  makes 
the  most  of  such  as  fall  in  his  way.  I  do  not  write 
this  in  reference  to  Hotel  de  Tours.  It  is  better 
than  Meurice,  or  Hotel  de  Paris,  or  the  Albion ;  but, 


LOOKING    FOB    LODGINGS  75 

with  our  limited  means,  we  were  soon  satisfied  that 
even  Monsieur  Charles  would  not  do.  So  we  set 
out  in  search  of  lodgings. 

Paris  is  said  to  have  a  floating  population  of  over 
a  hundred  thousand  strangers ;  and  in  view  of  the 
fact,  Paris  has  provided  accommodations.  The  wealthy 
will  find  gorgeously-furnished  apartments — the  less 
fortunate,  plainer  rooms ;  those  who  propose  remain- 
ing three  or  four  years,  can  engage  unfurnished  apart- 
ments, and  fill  them  to  suit  their  own  tastes  or  pockets ; 
and,  between  the  luxurious  entresols  and  the  dizzy 
garret,  all  may  be .  suited.  Nor  will  they  differ 
from  the  inhabitants,  when  domiciled,  save,  indeed, 
in  not  owning  the  articles  they  use;  for  we  live 
here  in  barracks.  One  house  holds  many  families, 
with  tT  common  stairway  and  a  female  Briareus 
at  the  entrance,  keeping  a  good  watch  on  all. 
Each  floor  has  its  reception  rooms,  sleeping  apart- 
ments, and  kitchen.  The  artist  or  student  suffers  or 
starves  in  the  seventh  or  eighth  story ;  the  million- 
aire feasts  in  the  second ;  and  they  pass  each  other 
on  the  winding  stair,  with  the  same  indifference  as 
in  the  street.  At  8  o'clock  in  the  evening,  the  poor 
student,  or  artist,  or  seamstress,  steals  from  the  apart- 
ment, into  which  the  blessed  light  of  day  can  no 
longer  come,  to  wander  on'  the  Boulevard,  or  in 
the  gardens,  where  gas  lamps  belong  to  all ;  and, 


76  BELL     SMITH    ABROAD. 

passing  the  richer  rooms,  catches  a  glimpse  of  the 
dazzling  lights,  or  a  faint  odor  from  the  rich  viands 
being  served  up.  Our  roof  covers  a  little  world, 
with  as  wide  a  contrast,  almost,  as  the  broadest 
earth.  I  do  not  know  much  of  the  wickedness  of 
this  people,  of  course ;  but  if  I  am  to  believe  all 
told  me  by  more  inquisitive  acquaintance,  a  moral- 
metre  might  be  carried  from  roof  to  eave,  without 
indicating  the  diversity  to  be  found  in  the  pockets. 
I  will  not,  however,  speak  on  a  topic  in  which  I 
have  so  few  facts. 

With  all  the  variety  of  apartments  before  us, 
to  secure  precisely  what  we  needed  was  exceedingly 
difficult.  The  price  for  rooms  lessened  as  the 
tenant  ascended.  Of  course,  the  weak  state  of  my 
health  disabled  me  from  climbing  to  the  sixth  and 
seventh  stories — the  weakly  condition  of  our  income 
would  not  support  more  splendid  rooms  nearer  the 
earth.  Nothing  daunted,  however,  we  hired  a  voi- 
ture  by  the  day,  two  francs  (forty  cents)  an  hour, 
and  set  out.  We  received  from  the  driver  a  card, 
with  the  number  of  his  vehicle  and  the  rate  of 
charges  thereon,  establishetl  by  law;  and  in  return 
we  stated  our  business,  and  named  the  streets  we 
wished  to  traverse.  To  a  stranger  in  good  health, 
this  search  for  an  abiding  place  is  not  unpleasant. 
We  made  of  it  a  merry  party.  Dr.  Bob  and  D. 


LOOKING    FOR    LODGINGS.  77 

were  especially  happy  in  their  comments  upon  the 
various  places  so  new  to  us. 

From  an  assortment  of  cards,  given  us  by  kind 
friends,  we  selected  the  localities  nearer,  so  as  to 
lose  no  time,  and  stopped  at  No.  — ,  Rue  de  la 
Paix.  Apartments  furnished,  with  a  table  d'hote. 
This  last  was  the  obstacle  in  the  way.  Let  no 
woman  lodging  in  Paris  submit  to  a  table  d'hote. 
In  the  first  place,  the  fare  is  abominable.  Every 
thing  in  Paris  is  on  a  limited  scale;  plenty  is  a 
word  learned  from  lexicons,  and  never  practiced; 
profuseness  considered  imaginary,  obsolete,  practical- 
ly impossible;  and  the  differences  in  the  tables 
d'hote  consist  only  in  whether  you  will  be  starved 
to  death  in  a  very  genteel  way,  or  suffer  starva- 
tion in  a  mean  style.  In  the  second  place,  you 
are  forced  into  the  society  of  total  strangers.  This, 
the  moral  state  of  Paris  will  not  permit.  We  de- 
termined to  look  at  the  rooms.  Two  pairs  of  stairs 
only,  a  reception  and  two  bed-rooms  very  nicely 
furnished.  But  the  table  d'hote.  "Madame  can 
have  meals  in  her  room  for  a  trifle  more."  Very 
good — the  rent  of  rooms  and  trifle  more  brought 
the  expenses  up  to  about  one  hundred  and  ten  dol- 
lars per  month;  not  objectionable.  But  there  was 
an  obstacle — one  of  the  rooms  would  not  be  vacant 
for  ten  days.  In  the  bright  lexicons  of  "cham- 


78  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

bers  meubles"  there  is  no  such  word  as  "fail." 
Would  "  Messieurs  and  Madame "  accompany  the 
polite  proprietor?  We  could  not  refuse;  so,  de- 
scending to  the  street,  we  crossed  over  into  an- 
other street,  walked  half  a  square,  entered  another 
mansion — one  flight  of  stairs,  and  we  were  in  the 
entresol. 

The  ceilings  were  low,  but  painted  and  gilded; 
not  too  much  light  came  from  windows,  square, 
and  set  with  huge  clear  panes ;  but  what  did  enter, 
fell  on  walls  gorgeous  in  gold,  garnished  with  mir- 
rors, and  adorned  with  beautiful  pictures;  while  the 
gilded  furniture,  cushioned  with  silk  and  velvet, 
was  in  keeping.  One  of  the  pictures — an  oil  paint- 
ing— fascinated  me.  It  was  a  scene  in  a  desert. 
The  sun  had  set  in  a  flood  of  glory,  which  still 
lit  up  the  waste  of  sand;  no  rock,  tree,  or  water; 
no  life,  save  one  solitary  figure  on  horseback,  that 
galloped  over  the  sands.  What  glory  in  the  sky, 
what  dreary  solitude  on  the  sands,  and  what  mys- 
tery and  force  in  the  one  figure!  I  could  scarcely 
leave  it  to  look  at  the  apartments,  and  now  it 
securely  holds  its  place  in  the  cells  of  memory. 
These  rooms  were  occupied — on  the  table  in  the 
saloon  were  a  pair  of  riding-gloves,  owned  by 
hands  leaving  their  shape  round  and  delicate,  be- 
side a  whip,  the  ivory  handle  of  which  terminated 


LOOKING    FOB    LODGINGS.  79 

in  a  beautifully-carved  serpent.  While  in  one  of 
the  bed-rooms,  we  caught  sight  of  a  pair  of  beaded 
slippers,  delicate  enough  and  fitly  shaped  to  be  the 
companions  of  the  gloves.  On  the  dressing-bureau 
were  thrown,  carelessly,  a  gorgeous  robe  of  velvet, 
a  mask,  and  a  singular  hat,  with  long  drooping 
plumes,  whetting  our  curiosity,  and  giving  rise  to 
various  surmises.  These  apartments  would  be  va- 
cant on  the  Monday  following. 

"Could  we  not  keep  them  altogether  at  the  same 
price?"  I  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Certainly,  if  Madame  would  come  to  the  table 
d'hote." 

"Don't,"  exclaimed  Dr.  Bob;  "something  wrong, 
or  these  rooms  would  n't  rent  at  that  money. 
Been  a  murder  here,  you  can  rely  on  it ;  haunted 
— haunted  by  a  bad  smell,  any  way.  Something 
wrong;  stop,  let  's  inquire.  Don't  leap  in'  the 
dark." 

Such  warning  was  quite  unnecessary;  the  idea  of 
the  table  d'hote,  at  best,  was  sufficient;  but,  to 
walk  a  square,  through  all  sorts  of  weather,  to 
our  meals,  was  out  of  the'  question.  So  we  turned 
from  the  fairy-chambers  and  the  fair  unknown. 

We  were  not  more  fortunate  in  the  following 
six  or  eight  efforts,  and  paused  in  the  midst  of 
our  search  to  dine  at  a  restaurant,  for  the  exer- 


80  BELL     SMITH     ABKOAD. 

tion  gave  us  appetites  at  an  early  hour.  This 
"feeling,"  I  was  about  to  call  it — this  eating  by 
ourself,  or  with  a  party  in  a  crowd,  a  street  al- 
most, is  fast  becoming  the  habit  in  New  York.  I 
consider  it  vile ;  but  do  you  notice  how  rapidly 
our  great  city  is  falling  into  the  manners  and  cus- 
toms of  Paris  ?  You  feel,  on  the  Boulevards,  as 
if  you  were  in  Broadway — with  a  difference.  The 
crowd  in  New  York,  as  I  have  said  before,  like 
John  Gilpin,  although  on  pleasure  bent,  have  yet 
a  frugal  mind,  a  good  deal  damaged  in  look  by 
dyspepsy  and  trouble.  I  looked  round  on  the 
little  snowy  tables,  at  which  sat  the  expectant  and 
eating  animals,  and  I  saw  only  those  who  acted  as 
if  they  considered  dining  the  principal  business  of 
life.  None  of  that  hasty  swallowing  of  food  and 
rushing  away,  as  if  that  moment  was  the  last  avail- 
able one  in  life!  Ah!  our  men  at  home  can  never 
be  the  quiet,  easy,  graceful  gentlemen,  until  they 
forget  what  their  "coats  cost." 

Doctor  Bob,  now  our  guide  in  this  pursuit  oi  a 
local  habitation,  proposed  we  should  cross  the  river 
to  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain — a  quarter  less  sought 
after  by  strangers,  and  therefore  probably  more 
reasonable  in  price.  We  did  so;  and  soon  found 
ourselves  jp  what  had  been,  in  the  old  times,  the 
aristocratic  quarter  of  Paris.  The  palaces  of  tho 


LOOKING    FOR    LODGINGS.  81 

noblesse,  in  days  gone  by,  are  now  the  "apartments 
meuble*s  "  for  transient  citizens  of  other  lands.  We 
were  shown  through  any  number,  where  the  wide 
halls,  huge  stairways,  and  lofty  ceilings,  gave  token 
of  a  different  order  of  mind  from  that  of  to-day. 
But  the  streets  are  narrow  and  gloomy,  and  the 
furniture  such  only  as  had  seen  former  circum- 
stances. We  looked  with  much  interest  on  these 
monuments  of  departed  grandeur — the  sad  memen- 
toes of  not  only  proud  and  powerful  families,  but 
of  the  revolution  and  the  reign  of  terror  in  which 
they  went  down,  never  again  to  rise.  Napoleon 
made  an  effort  to  re-establish  the  aristocracy  of 
France,  but  failed;  and  since,  all  such  have  been, 
and  are,  but  feeble  shadows  of  the  mighty  past. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  there  is  more  genuine 
democracy  in  the  social  life  of  Paris  than  in  the 
United  States.  The  old  family  pride,  as  I  said, 
was  broken  down  in  the  revolution,  and  has  not 
been  replaced  by  the  moneyed  influences,  which 
o'ershadow  all  else  at  home.  One  may  live  in  any 
style,  in  Paris,  and  be  respected — at  home,  we  are 
brained  in  every  effort  by  weighty  purses. 

This  is  not  giving  you  any  information  on  the 
subject  of  lodgings.  We  signally  failed  in  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germain.  One  suit  of  rooms  only 

came  up  to  expectation,  in  the   Kue  -,  No.  — , 

4* 


82  BELL    SMIT1I    ABKOAD. 

and  on  the  first  story,  and  exquisitely  furnished; 
old  furniture,  that  in  its  selection  exhibited  taste 
and  character;  the  pictures  were  fine,  and  a  piano 
and  harp  added  to  the  attractions.  But  the  room 
had  a  damp,  musty  atmosphere,  as  if  unused  for 
some  time;  while  many  of  the  windows,  looking 
into  a  narrow  court,  gave  a  gloomy  light  to  the 
whole.  The  rent  for  all  this — five  rooms  and  a 
kitchen — was  so  reasonable  it  startled  us — only 
fifty  dollars  per  month. 

"I  brought  you  here,"  said  Doctor  Bob,  "that 
you  might  have  a  specimen  of  the  trouble  beset- 
ting strangers  in  Paris.  Were  it  not  for  me  now, 
you  would  take  this  place,  and  die.  I  have  learned 
its  history;  sit  down,  and  rest,  while  I  relate  it. 
Some  ten  years  since,  these  rooms  were  furnished, 
as  you  now  see  them,  by  a  young  gentleman  of 
wealth  and  family,  for  himself  and  a  young  girl 
he  had  deceived  by  a  mock  marriage.  The  reason 
of  this  imitation  may  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the 
youth  had  a  wife  living,  but,  being  excessively 
wearied  of  her,  he  found  much  happiness  in  taking 
to  himself  another.  Leaving  his  lawful  spouse  to 
pass  the  winter  in  Eome,  under  some  pretense,  he 
brought  his  youthful  bride  to  this  place,  and  for 
her  furnished  these  rooms.  All  that  taste  could 
suggest,  or  fancy  desire,  was  theirs.  For  a  while  the 


LOOKING    FOB    LODGINGS  83 

• 

imitation  went  merry  as  the  real  marriage  bell;  but 
at  last  came  the  reckoning,  as  it  must  in  all  things 
sinful.  The  guilty  husband  received  a  letter  from, 
his  lawful  spouse,  announcing  her  unexpected  re- 
turn to  Paris.  By  some  unexplained  delay,  the  let- 
ter arrived  but  a  few  hours  before  that  announced 
for  the  appearance  of  his  wife.  What  to  do,  he 
knew  not.  In  a  fit  of  desperation  he  told  all  to 
the  poor  victim.  It  came  with  frightful  effect;  the 
life  of  fairy  happiness  faded  into  a  dreary  reali- 
ty before  her,  and  she  sank,  heart-broken.  The 
remedy  for  all  evils,  with  a  Frenchman,  is  suicide. 
He  proposed  they  should  die.  He  brought  a  pan 
of  charcoal,  closed  the  windows,  dropped  the  cur- 
tains, and,  both  drinking  a  draught  of  laudanum 
to  deaden  the  pain,  laid  down  together  on  the  bed. 
His  nerves  were  so  strung  by  the  excitement, 
that  the  opiate  had  no  effect;  but  she  soon  slept 
Time  wore  slowly  on.  At  length,  while  dropping 
into  that  sleep  which  knows  no  waking,  he  was 
roused  by  a  violent  ringing  at  the  door;  and 
throwing  open  the  window,  saw  in  the  court  below 
a  carriage,  that  told  but  too  well  of  the  arrival. 
He  looked  round;  she  was  apparently  insensible; 
he  went  out,  closing  the  door  after  him.  It  was 
indeed  his  wife;  but  what  to  do  with  her,  was  a 
question  easier  asked  than  answered.  He  assured 


84  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

her  these  were  the  apartments  of  a  friend,  ill  with 
a  contagious  disorder;  and  he  begged  her  to  leave 
him.  She  was  about  complying,  when  a  new  char- 
acter came  upon  the  stage.  It  is  supposed  the 
open  window  revived  the  poor  creature  he  had  left. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  she  did  partly  revive,  and  not 
finding  her  betrayer  at  her  side  staggered  to  the 
<door,  and  fell,  dying,  at  his  feet.  All  effort  to 
sustain  life  was  in  vain — she  expired  in  his  arms. 
The  husband,  deserted  by  his  wife,  charged  with 
murder,  fled,  and  for  some  days  seemed  to  have 
entirely  disappeared.  But  one  dull  wintry  morning 
that  identical  old  gentleman  who  now  stands  be- 
fore us,  opened  these  rooms  to  air  them,  and  found 
Monsieur  lying  upon  the  floor  with  his  throat  cut, 
quite  dead.  You  may  yet  see,  by  looking  closely, 
the  stain  of  drops  upon  the  door-side.  Since  then, 
these  rooms  seem  fated;  for  many  years  they  were 
shunned,  and  at  last,  when  strangers  have  made 
the  effort  to  inhabit  them,  sickness  has  driven 
them  out.  Come,  let  us  go.  Nothing  these  pro- 
prietors of  furnished  apartments  so  much  dread,  as 
an  event  likely  to  injure  their  rents.  When  I  first 
came  to  live  in  Paris,  I  was  sadly  affected  by  the 
blues,  and  moped  about  considerably.  My  landlord 
became  alarmed,  and  at  last  suggested,  Frenchman 
like,  that  if  Monsieur  thought  of  burning  his  brain, 


LOOKING    FOB    LODGINGS.  85 

or  in  any  other  way  departing  this  life,  he  would 
be  so  kind  as  to  engage  other  apartments,  if  Mon- 
sieur pleased,  or  at  least  use  the  Arch  of  Triumph, 
or  some  other  public  institution." 

We  lost  many  days  in  the  search,  before  finding 
the  house  we  needed  and  now  inhabit.  It  was  a 
very  fatiguing  business,  with  gleams  of  amusement. 
I  became  so  tired,  I  would  not  leave  the  carriage^ 
but  sent  Dr.  Bob  and  D.  in  to  examine,  and  then 
report.  At  one  place,  they  were  so  long  that  I 
followed,  and,  entering  unexpectedly,  overheard  a 
very  lively  conversation  between  my  envoys  extra- 
ordinary and  the  female  concierge. 

"Trois  cent  cinquante  francs."  D.  was  saying, 
in  his  peculiar  pronunciation,  as  I  came  in. 

"  Oui,  oui,"  exclaimed  the  old  lady;  "pour  le 
premier  mois  mais  pour  le  seconde,  troisieme,  etc. 
Monsieur  payera  cinq  cent  francs." 

"What  is  the  learned  Theban  driving  at  now, 
Bob?" 

"  She  says  you  are  an  honest-looking  man,  and 
she  wants  you  as  a  lodger.  She  added,  moreover, 
that  you  are  eminently  handsome." 

"Oh,  nonsense.  Now,  old  lady,  make  an  effort, 
and  listen,  if  you  please.  I  want  to  know  si  vous 
voulez  let  us  have  cette  appartemente,  at  trois  cent 
francs  per  month?" 


86  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

"  Trois  cent  francs,  le  premier  mois  et  alors  com- 
mence la  saison  pour  la  longue  terme  encore.  Mon- 
sieur payera  plus  cher." 

"Upon  what~point  in  this  interesting  negotiation 
is  the  ancient  female  discoursing  on?  Do  try  and 
help  us,  Bob." 

"Certainly.  Palrey-vous  Anglais,  madame?  Non, 
Jpad.  Parley- vous  FranQais?  Oui,  good.  Mon  ami, 
old  lady,  wishes  to  borrow  your  gridiron,  and  is 
exceedingly  anxious  to  know  how  you  do  for 
spoons.  Bon  jour,  madame,  fairest  of  your  sex, 
adieu." 

The  concierge  gave  such  a  look  of  blank  aston- 
ishment at  this  harangue,  I  could  not  refrain  from 
laughing,  and,  coming  forward,  extricated  our  friends 
from  their  difficulty.  Through  the  kindness  of  our 
old  friend,  Mrs.  S.,  we  found  precisely  what  we 
were  in  search  of — a  suite  of  rooms  on  the  first 
floor,  looking,  not  on  a  dismal  court,  but  a  beauti- 
ful garden,  'full  of  shrubs,  flowers,  and  fountains. 
But  they  would  not  be  vacant  for  fifteen  days — 
would  Madame  be  content  with  some  beautiful 
apartments  on  the  fifth  stage?  The  fifth  stage 
meant  the  seventh  story  from  the  street,  and  with 
infinite  difficulty  we  climbed  to  that  point,  quite 
removed  from  Paris,  I  assure  you.  They  are  pleas- 
ant rooms,  boasting  a  little  balcony,  and  command- 


LOOKING    FOR    LODGINGS.  8T 

ing  a  grand  view  of  house-tops.  I  was  determined 
to  secure  the  rooms  below,  and  so  went  into  the 
fifth  stage  immediately.  Here  we  are,  enjoying  the 
novelty  of  being  above  Paris — not  all  Paris,  for 
certain  mysterious  personages  are  yet  above  us. 
But  from  this  elevated  point,  having  a  fine  view 
of  the  house-tops,  I  write  myself  yours  sincerely. 


VI. 


E  took  possession  of  our  little 
rooms  in  great  glee.  The  nov- 
elty of  our  elevated  nest,  above  the  thronging,  idle 
Paris — the  comforts  gathered  in  little  knick-knacks — • 
the  taste  evinced  in  every  thing — the  quiet,  in  such 
contrast  with  the  noise  of  our  late  abode,  made  me 
think  for  the  moment  we  were  at  home.  I  have 
lived  to  learn  better.  The  word  home  is  an  Eng- 
lish word,  and  has  an  English  meaning  totally 
unkncwn  in  France.  The  idea  of  comfort,  of  se- 
clusion, of  sacredness,  all  contained  in  that  word 
of  hope,  memory,  and  happiness,  have  no  existence 
here,  even  in  imagination,  and  would  be  as  applicable 
to  French  lodgings  as  to  a  sunshade  or  a  hat. 


HOUSE-KEEPING.  89 

They  will  keep  out  the  sun,  the  rain,  and  the 
wind  (indifferently),  but  they  keep  in  nothing — no 
inner  temple,  where  the  hearth-stone  is  an  altar, 
and  the  household  gods  are  treasured  up  sacred 
from  common  eyes.  Our  gay  Parisians  want  only 
a  corner  in  which  to  sleep;  the  balance  of  doings 
incident  to  life  are  gotten  up  in  the  open  air.  A 
little  dinner-party  in  the  street,  a  breakfast  or  supper 
on  the  sidewalks,  with  the  great  world  streaming 
by,  an  afternoon  or  an  evening  in  the  Boulevard, 
Tuileries,  or  theaters,  are  the  makings- up  of  every- 
day life.  An  American's  house  is  his  castle — 
there,  with  wife,  children,  and  relations,  he  lives 
merrily,  or  in  stupid  grandeur.  The  stranger  must 
sound  a  parley,  sometimes  on  the  outside,  before 
the  drawbridge  is  lowered  and  admission  granted. 
With  the  French,  the  houses  are  barracks,  and 
the  only  way  to  avoid  the  intruding  stranger  is  to 
evacuate  yourself.  Of  course,  with  such  a  position 
of  things,  no  provision  is  made  for  our  mode  of  life, 
and  sorry  am  I  to  write  it — our  happiness. 

"We  employed  a  domestic  who  came  to  us  with 
an  armful  of  recommendations.  She  could  not  com- 
mence her  duties  until  the  Monday  following  our 
removal,  and  we  had  two  days  to  dispose  of  in  the 
meanwhile.  Mrs.  T.  came  to  see  us  two  hours  after 
the  baggage  was  deposited  on  the  floor,  and  treated 


90  BELL    SMITH    ABKOAD. 

me  to  a  meaning  smile,  in  return  for  my  cliild-like 
rejoicings  over  my  new  apartments. 

"  I  hope  you  will  find  them  all  you  anticipate," 
she  said ;  "  but  I  have  lived  several  years  in  Paris, 
and  never  succeeded  in  finding  myself  comfortably 
situated.  Our  ideas  of  comfort  are  so  entirely  dif- 
ferent from  those  of  this  people,  that  to  find  them 
gratified  is  out  of  the  question.  Your  chimney 
smokes." 

This  was  said  so  abruptly,  I  looked  astonished. 
We  had  not  disturbed  the  fire-place,  glittering  with 
burnished  brass.  I  found  words  to  ask  a  reason 
for  this  abrupt  conclusion. 

"  All  chimneys  in  Paris  are  nuisances,  and  smoke 
abominably.  Until  late,  fires  were  luxuries  to  the 
majority  of  the  inhabitants,  and  now  we  have  sham 
fires — a  pretense  for  fires — make-believes.  Put  on 
what  you  consider  sufficient  wood  or  coal  to  warm 
the  room ;  and,  after  being  smoked  beyond  pa- 
tience, end  only  in  astonishing  the  residents  at  your 
extravagance.  You  will  surely  freeze  in  these 
rooms." 

I  again  asked  why,  as  the  apartments  were  small, 
and  apparently  capable  of  being  warmed  readily. 

"The  walls  of  the  house,  my  dear,  terminate  at 
the  floor — this  story  and  the  one  above  are  mere 
shells  of  lath  and  plaster ;  sec  ;"  and  of  the  fact  she 


HOUSE-KEEPING.  91 

soon  convinced  us.  The  balcony,  I  had  so  rejoiced 
over,  rested  on  the  huge  walls  of  the  building. 

"But  we  descend  to  the  second  story  in  a  few 
days." 

"  That  may  be  a  gain.  The  atmosphere  up  here 
is  pure — more  than  I  can  say  for  most  apartments 
lower  down.  Show  them  to  me." 

"We  descended,  and,  with  but  two  words  of  apol- 
ogy, walked  in  upon  the  occupants — a  customary 
thing  'here,  when  looking  at  apartments.  The  lady 
went  on  with  her  embroidery,  and  a  little  girl, 
under  the  hands  of  an  instructor,  looked  up  once, 
but  never  paused  in  her  drumming.  We  examined 
carefully  into  every  corner,  and  then  returned, 
when  Mrs.  T.  gave  me  the  result  of  her  obser- 
vations. 

"  The  first  trouble  I  notice  is,  that  you  pass 
through  the  dining-room  to  get  to  the  parlor — no 
inconvenience  to  French  people,  but  a  serious  an- 
noyance to  us ;  we  are  of  a  retiring  disposition 
when  '  feeding,'  (excuse  the  words.)  In  the  next 
place,  the  sun  never  reaches  your  windows — a  sad 
thing  in  Paris,  where  the  winters  are  composed 
of  rain-clouds ;  but  more  especially  in  your  apart- 
ments where  Lucy's  room  is  without  windows  al- 
together, with  a  door  opening  into  your  bed-chamber. 
How  the  poor  child  will  manage  to  dress,  two-thirds 


92  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

of  the  winter,  I  cannot  imagine.  Again,  you  are 
above  some  stables,  and  will  be  awakened  at  mid- 
night by  Count  Somebody  and  family  returning  to 
their  pavilion  from  ,  the  opera  or  ball ;  and,  if  at 
all  nervous,  you  will  be  kept  awake  by  the  pawing 
of  horses  until  morning." 

I  begged  her  in  pity  to  stop,  and  called  her  at- 
tention to  the  beautiful  gardens  before  our  windows. 

"They  will  look  dreary  enough  when  the  leaves 
fall;  but  the  open  space  will  afford  you  air — that 
is  some  comfort.  You  tell  me  you  have  engaged 
a  bonne,  (domestic ;)  consider  her  a  female  devoid 
of  all  honesty,  and  treat  her  accordingly.  She  will 
never  tell  you  the  truth,  even  by  accident,  and 
steal  every  thing  she  dare.  Lucy  must  carry  the 
keys,  and  give  out  from  day  to  day  precisely  what 
you  need  for  use.  Give  her  a  certain  amount  of 
money  in  the  morning  to  market  with,  make  her 
produce  the  bills  and  settle  at  night.  You  have 
your  fuel  in  the  cave ;  for  every  five  sticks  she  brings 
you,  she  will  sell  two.  Your  wine  will  suffer  the 
same  fate.  Your  beer  will  be  watered  beyond  its 
original  taste.  These  things  you  cannot  well  pre- 
vent. On  the  subject  of  wood  I  am  a  little  ner- 
vous. The  wood-man  sells  it  to  you  by  the  pound, 
and,  as  he  soaks  it  in  water  before  weighing,  you 
can  not  well  afford  the  stealage — the  cheatago-is  quite 


HOUS£-KEEPING.  93 

enough.  She  will  sell  the  food  already  cooked 
before  your  face.  When  you  walk  through  the 
market,  notice  a  stall  in  which  are  bits  of  cooked 
dishes,  mutton  chops,  infinitesimal  beef-steaks,  and 
pats  of  butter;  these  are  furnished  the  stall  by 
cooks  in  the  neighborhoral,  who  sell  them  to  this 
receiver,  and  he  in  turn  sells  them  to  the  poorer 
laborers.  Two  profits  to  be  made  off  your  kitchen." 

I  asked,  in  perfect  astonishment,  if  this  could  be  so, 
and  if  it  was  not  possible  to  find  honest  servants. 

"Entirely  out  of  the  question.  One  would  cease 
the  awful  strife  with  their  cheating  and  stealing, 
but  it  offers  a  premium  on  their  vice  ;  and  it  increases 
immediately  beyond  the  strength  of  your  purse. 
By-the-by,  be  very  careful  never  to  patronize  a 
tradesman  she  may  recommend.  They  have  their 
heads  together,  and  your  bills  will  be  no  evidence 
of  the  expenditure.  The  class  you  have  to  deal 
with  in  Paris  recognize  in  a  stranger  a  goose  sent 
them  by  Providence  to  pluck — they  pluck  accord- 
ingly, and,  going  to  church  after,  they  return  thanks 
to  the  'bon  Dieu,'  that  he  has  sent  them  so  fat  a 
bird." 

This  all  sounds  very  harsh,  yet  my  experience 
sustains  it  to  the  letter;  nor  have  I  met  with  a 
single  American  or  English  woman,  resident  in 
Paris,  who  has  not  concurred  with  us  in  this.  It 


94  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

is  a  hard  thing  to  make  such  charges  against  a  whole 
class — a  class,  too,  struggling  in  poverty,  under 
heavy  exaction,  poor  wages,  and  unjust  legislation. 
The  law  puts  them  under  the  control  of  their  em. 
ployers.  Each  servant  is  required  to  bring  from 
their  last  employer  a  wr^-en  character,  and  without 
this  can  not  be  employed.  They  may  complain  if 
the  document  is  refused,  and  one  is  forced  to  give 
a  reason  for  such  refusal.  But  it  is  an  oppressed 
class,  and,  like  all  oppressed  by  the  strong  arm, 
make  up  in  cunning  and  deceit  what  they  lack  in 
power. 

I  gave  Mrs.  T.'s  experiences  to  D.  and  Dr.  B., 
on  their  return  from  a  settlement  with  Hotel  de 
Tours,  and  both  pronounced  it  nonsense.  D.  said 
Mrs.  T.  was  a  perfect  gentlewoman,  but  nevertheless 
no  oracle  in  all  things ;  whereupon  he  brought  from 
under  his  arm  a  complicated  piece  of  tinnery,  which 
he  pronounced  a  coffee-pot,  capable  of  making  coffee, 
without  fail,  in  ten  minutes.  As  our  cook  could 
not  come  for  two  days,  our  first  proposition  was  to 
breakfast,  lunch,  and  dine,  at  the  Cafe  de  France; 
but  the  coffee  pot  so  elevated  D.,  that  he  declared 
we  should  commence  housekeeping  instanter,  by 
preparing  our  breakfast. 

To  sit  down  to  coffee,  bread,  and  butter,  seemed 
a  very  simple,  easy  matter;  but  when  the  articles 


HOUSE-KEEPING.  95 

are  to  "be  collected,  and  a  dozen  flight  of  stairs  to 
be  descended  and  ascended,  the  labor  is  tremen- 
dous. Five  times  did  Dr.  B.  and  D.  disappear  and 
re-appear,  quite  exhausted,  before  the  coffee,  milk, 
sugar,  bread,  and  butter,  could  be  ordered ;  and 
in  the  midst  of  the  congratulations  at  the  possession 
of  these  valuables,  he  discovered  salt  to  be  among 
the  missing.  Then  came  the  fact  of  no  spoons, 
knives,  or  forks,  in  our  little  house.  After  a  deal 
of  vexation,  all  these  things  were  purchased,  at 
twice  their  value,  and  collected. 

The  principal  article,  most  desired  and  anxiously 
looked  for,  was  the  coffee.  D.  solemnly  set  about 
its  manufacture.  The  exact  quantity  of  ground 
coffee  was  measured,  the  proper  quantity  of  water 
poured  over,  to  which,  in  a  circular  pan,  was  placed 
and  set  on  fire  the  alcohol.  Each  one  held  a 
watch  in  hand,  and  we  waited  anxiously  the  ex- 
piration of  the  ten  minutes.  It  came  at  last ;  the 
alcohol  was  extinguished,  and  the  first  cup  poured 
out.  It  had  a  mulatto-ish  color,  as  if  it  had  made 
the  exact  divide  of  half  and  half.  D.  tasted,  and 
setting  down  the  cup,  exclaimed: 

"I  have  been  all  my  life  in  a  state  of  wonder- 
ment, as  to  the  mode  of  manufacturing  steamboat 
and  hotel  coffee.  The  wonder  is  at  an  end — Eureka 
— the  discovery  is  invaluable." 


96  BELL    SMITH     ABROAD. 

"  The  discovery,"  retorted  Dr.  Bob,  with  extreme 
disgust  painted  on  his  face,  "  may  be  invaluable, 
but  the  coffee  is  vile  stuff." 

"  Patience,  fellow-sufferer,"  said  D.  ;  "we  are 
savans,  and  must  not  permit  our  selfish  appetites 
to  interfere  with  the  pursuits  of  science.  Let  us 
try  again." 

Pouring  in  double  the  quantity  of  alcohol,  lie 
said  it  should  boil  twenty  minutes.  This  was  im- 
possible, as  at  the  end  of  the  lawful  ten  minutes, 
the  fire  expired  of  itself.  It  was  hard  to  tell  what 
had  become  of  the  extra  supply  of  spirits ;  but,  on 
tasting  this  second  experiment,  the  doubt  at  once 
vanished.  The  weak  coffee  was  considerably 
strengthened  by  the  spirits.  As  if  to  crowd  all 
ills  into  a  limited  space,  Dr.  B.  put  down  his 
cup  with  more  than  horror  in  his  face,  and  pro- 
nounced himself  poisoned.  I  could  not  imagine 
what  was  the  trouble,  until,  after  tasting  again  and 
again  the  abominable  mixture,  I  discovered  he  had 
been  drinking  from  a  cup  in  which  I  had  impru- 
dently mixed  a  tonic,  made  up  of  herbs,  bitter  as 
bitterest  known. 

"  There  is  a  point,"  said  D.,  "  at  which  we  are 
assured  by  the  divine  Watts,  that  patience  ceases 
to  be  a  virtue.  That  point  is  now  before  us;  and, 
to  show  my  appreciation  of  the  sentiment,  I  will 


HOUSE-KEEPING.  97 

make  this  coffee-pot  a  contribution  to  Paris  at 
large." 

So  saying,  lie  stepped  upon  the  balcony,  and 
tossed  the  tin  curiosity  out  to  the  world.  Its  descent 
was  curious ;  for  a  short  distance  it  took  rather  a 
south-by-easterly  course.  In  this  direction  it  struck 
a  stone  projection  of  a  house  near  by,  which  changed 
its  flight  to  almost  due  east,  and  so  continued  until 
it  hit  and  went  in  at  a  window,  through  a  pane  of 
glass,  with  some  noise.  From  this  it  immediately 
flew  out,  quite  hastily  indeed,  followed  by  a  white 
night-cap,  covering  the  head  of  an  irritable  old  citi- 
zen, who,  with  the  tassel  of  his  cap  shaking  with 
very  wrath  and  indignation,  looked  in  every  direc- 
tion but  the  right  one.  The  coffee-pot  continued 
until  it  struck  a  street-cleaner  in  the  back,  who 
jumped  as  if  shot.  We  left  a  knot  of  this  useful 
class  earnestly  examining  the  curious  work  of  art, 
probably  setting  it  down  as  an  "  infernal  machine," 
of  neater  construction  and  more  convenient  form 
than  the  great  original. 

We  ordered  breakfast  from  the  Cafe  de  France, 
and  a  very  excellent  breakfast  it  was.  The  smoking 
viands,  the  boiling  coffee,  with  hot  milk,  and  real 
cream,  restored  our  good  humor;  and  after  par- 
taking, with  many  a  laugh  and  jest,  we  felt  disposed 
to  be  on  good  terms  with  the  world  at  large,  and 


98  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

Paris  in  particular.  With  the  last,  however,  we 
had  an  unsettled  account.  It  could  not  brook  the 
indignity  of  having  kitchen  ware  tossed  in  its  face, 
violating  thereby  certain  laws  of  peace  and  propriety. 
We  had  scarcely  finished  our  morning  repast,  when 
a  ring  at  our  bell  ushered  in  two  of  the  police, 
-both  with  terrible  swords  at  their  side,  and  the 
worst-fitting  clothes  I  believe  I  ever  did  see.  We 
were  ordered  to  appear  before  a  dispenser  of  justice, 
to  suffer,  if  guilty,  for  the  hideous  offense  charged. 
As  we  were  not  prepared  with  a  barricade,  to  meet 
the  unexpected  emergency,  our  only  course  was 
quietly  to  submit,  with  a  tremendous  appeal  for 
mercy. 

To  some  of  your  readers,  who  may  wonder  at 
the  rapidity  with  which  these  functionaries  found 
us,  I  will  say  that,  in  going  into  any  house,  or 
hotel,  to  lodge,  you  are  requested  to  leave  your 
passport  in  the  porter's  lodge,  until  from  it,  in  what 
is  called  the  police-book,  is  entered  all  the  particulars 
the  document  may  afford.  The  porter  or  concierge 
is  in  the  pay  of  the  police;  the  commissaire,  who 
runs  your  errands,  is  in  the  same  service ;  the  driver 
of  the  voiture,  in  which  you  ride,  reports  to  the 
police;  your  interpreter,  if  you  have  one,  belongs  to 
that  disagreeable  body  ;  and,  in  fact,  the  law,  through 
a  hundred  eyes,  is  looking  on  you  continually. 


HOUSE-KEEPING.  99 

In  the  present  difficulty,  I  suggested  sending  for 
our  Minister.  Dr.  Bob  begged  to  have  professional 
advice ;  but  D.  said  he  could  not  think  of  involving 
our  country  in  a  war  on  account  of  a  vile  coffee-pot ; 
and  as  for  a  lawyer,  he  thought,  from  experience, 
that  would  make  matters  worse.  There  was  no 
use  denying  the  charge.  The  indignant  old  citizen 
was  on  hand,  discoursing  rapidly  in  excellent  French  ; 
the  hit-in-the-back  workman  was  hard  by,  talking 
vehemently  in  very  bad  French ;  so  nothing  was 
left  but  to  confess  the  awful  crime,  and  submit  to 
punishment.  As  we  were  strangers,  and  as  Paris 
lives  on  strangers,  the  polite  judge  only  fined  us 
fifty  francs,  which,  with  the  expenses  incident, 
brought  the  amount  up  to  about  twelve  dollars. 
Biding  homeward,  we  made  a  calculation  as  to  the 
cost  of  our  morning  meal,  attempted  in  an  economical 
way,  and  found  we  had  expended  near  twenty 
dollars. 

Experience  purchased: 

French  cooking  is  a  science. 

French  house-keeping  is  a  mystery. 

Science  comes  from  labor — mysteries  from  Prov- 


VII. 


from  a     ii 


E  have  had  the 
sunniest  weather,  not 
warm,  but  weather 
resembling  our  In- 
dian summer  ;  no, 
not  that  —  the  hazy, 
softened  glories  of 
that  echo,  as  it 
were,  of  the  fire- 
eyed  summer  in 
our  Western  land, 
pertains  to  no  part 
of  the  weather  in 
France.  I  mean  we 
have  had  clear,  mild  days  —  what  Emerson  calls 
"good  working  weather"  —  and  I  have  used  it  to 
the  best  of  my  poor  abilities.  That  consists  of  sit- 
ting for  hours  on  our  little  balcony,  perched  high 
above  the  noisy  world,  and  gazing  listlessly  upon 


SIGHTS    FKOM    A    BALCONY.  101 

the  many-tinted  strands  of  life,  crossing  and  loiter- 
ing upon  Place  de  la  Madeleine — into  which  I  can 
look;  or  making  short  excursions  into  the  noted 
neighborhood — for  Place  de  la  Madeleine  is  but 
a  second's  walk  from  Place  de  la  Concorde,  and 
Place  de  la  Concorde  is  bounded  by  breathless 
wonders,  as  you  well  know ;  if  not,  Gulignani,  in- 
comparable guide,  will  inform  you  of  the  fact. 

I  wish  it  were  in  my  power  to  describe  to  you 
my  observatory,  its  peculiar  situation  and  many 
advantages;  but  in  such  I  make  no  progress.  I 
see  the  Madeleine,  towering  up  in  all  its  simple 
grandeur,  and  it  has  grown  upon  my  mind  like 
Niagara  did.  Every  additional  look,  it  seems  to 
fill  a  larger  Space,  and  draw  stronger  on  my  ad- 
miration. Let  no  one  visit  the  interior,  who  wishes 
to  retain  an  unshaken  remembrance  of  a  beautiful 
structure.  Genius  is  untouched  on  the  outside — 
within,  we  have  a  stupendous  monument  of  French 
upholstery.  The  one  is  "the  gold  o'er-dusted, 
the  other  the  dust  o'er-gilded."  The  gay  Boule 
vards  touch  the  Place  de  la  Madeleine  at  one 
corner,  and  turn  down  Hue  Royale,  which  is  the 
front  avenue  of  palaces,  to  the  solemn,  high-pil- 
lared temple,  connecting  it  with  Place  de  la  Con- 
corde, where  the  first  Eevolution  swallowed  its  own 
children,  and  so  called,  I  presume,  because  there 


102  BELL     SMITH    ABROAD. 

Louis  XVI.,  Madame  Kolancl,  Danton,  and  Robes- 
pierre — imbecility,  purity,  strength,  cunning,  and 
meanness — all  went  down,  and  were  at  peace  in 
earth's  only  common  ground — the  grave. 

But  the  Boulevards  only  touch  the  Place,  and 
the  great  stream  of  folly  and  wickedness  flows  off, 
leaving  undisturbed  the  open  space  surrounding  the 
temple.  Here,  under  the  trees,  long  lines  of  voit« 
ures  are  lazily  dreaming,  like  so  many  individual 
nightmares.  Here,  bonnes,  with  troops  of  merry 
children,  watch  their  charge,  or  listen  to  the  idle 
talk  of  duty ;  a  priest,  in  the  dress  peculiar  here 
to  his  class,  paces  slowly  along;  two  nuns,  like 
moving  shadows,  appear  and  are  gone ;  the  old 
blind  mendicant,  basking  in  the  sun,  seems  infected 
with  the  quiet,  and  mutely  waits  for  charity  in 
charity's  own  good  time.  Now  we  have  a  process- 
ion of  schoolboys,  led  by  their  teacher,  who,  peda- 
gogue-like, marches  solemnly  at  the  head  of  the 
straggling  band.  At  times,  a  gay  equipage  flashes 
by  from  Rue  Tronchet,  with  footmen  in  white 
stockings,  and  long  coats  garnished  with  huge  but- 
tons, like  a  court  costume,  and  about  as  reasonable. 
This  sight  is  rare,  however,  as  it  is  the  fashion  for 
Paris  monde  to  be  out  of  Paris  now,  and  not  re- 
turn until  late  in  December.  Paris  is  now  at 
Dieppe,  or  in  its  country  places.  The  want  of  a 


SIGHTS    FROM    A    BALCONY.  103 

country  place,  or  the  want  of  money  to  purchase 
bathing  and  flirtation  at  Dieppe,  may  keep  much 
of  the  best  society  at  home.  Such  unfortunates 
never  acknowledge  the  fact,  but  make  closed  doors 
and  shut  window-blinds  look  absent-bodied — if  I 
may  coin  such  an  expression — to  all  passers-by. 

One  is  never  out  of  hearing  of  street-organs. 
They  are  the  attributes  of  beggary,  that  approach 
your  pockets  through  your  ears.  The  most  popular 
music,  the  most  beautiful  tunes,  are  pressed  in  the 
service,  and  announce  the  approach  of  wooden  legs, 
sightless  eyes,  orphan  children,  decayed  parentage, 
and  impudent  laziness.  Each  neighborhood  has  its 
peculiar  set,  and  I  am  beginning  to  distinguish 
mine  by  the  different  airs  stereotyped  on  various 
organs.  "Jeannette  and  Jeannot"  informs  us  of 
the  presence  of  a  body  and  the  absence  of  two 
legs — a  sad  old  fellow,  pulled  about  in  a  carriage 
by  a  little  girl, -one  would  fain  think  his  daughter. 
"  Valentino "  tells  us  of  a  poor  woman,  who,  blind, 
yet  alone  gropes  along,  asking  no  alms,  save  by 
the  saddest  face  I  ever  saw,  and  the  most  discordant 
music.  "  God  save  the  Queen "  is  used  by  an  old, 
battered  specimen  of  the  grand  army,  who  grinds 
it  out  for  a  while,  leaving  to  the  music  the  ap- 
peal; but  after  a  time  he  grows  impatient,  and 
gives  a  cry — a  howl,  I  was  going  to  write  it — the 


104  BELL    SMITH    ABKOAD. 

most  terrible  that  ever  came  from  human  lips;  it 
sounds  like  the  wail  of  a  condemned  soul.  Of 
course,  this  brings  a  shower  of  copper.  One  would 
give  the  whole  copper  region  to  be  relieved  from 
such  a  warning. 

But  by  far  the  most  extraordinary  specimen  is 
that  of  a  human — if  such  I  can  call  him — who 
seems,  at  one  period  of  his  life,  or  at  all  periods, 
to  have  been  in  many  battles,  and  pulled  through 
all  sorts  of  machinery.  He  is  a  walking  commen- 
tary on  modern  surgery.  I  can  not  give  you  a  de- 
scription of  the  poor  fellow,  for  I  never  could  bear 
to  look  at  him  long  enough  for  that.  I  can  safely 
declare  that  he  has  two  arms — one,  I  know,  termin- 
ates in  an  iron  hook.  I  would  not  be  willing  to 
declare  that  his  neck  has  not  been  broken,  or  that 
his  wind-pipe  is  not  gutta  percha.  He  certainly  has 
a  queer  collar  for  a  cravat.  His  legs — but  who 
can  describe  the  rambling,  shambling  things?  The 
truth  is,  it  is  impossible  to  say  where  the  wood 
ends,  or  the  man  begins,  at  any  part  of  him. 
Mounted  with  his  hand-organ  on  an  odd  carriage, 
which  he  propels  from  house  to  house  at  a  rate  of 
about  one  mile  a  day,  I  have  seen  him  at  the  cor 
ner  of  Place  de  la  Madeleine  in  the  morning,  and 
just  disappearing  round  another  in  the  evening. 

All  this  beggary  set  to  music,  "stinging  through 


SIGHTS    FROM    A    BALCONY.  105 

Burns  and  Moore,  like  hedgehogs  dressed  in  lace," 
as  the  funny  Holmes  says.  But  I  do  not  entirely 
concur  with  that  genius.  To  tell  you,  in  great  con- 
fidence, the  truth,  I  am  somewhat  partial  to  this 
street-music.  I  have  a  weakness  that  way,  which 
grew  out  of  early  association.  When  a  little  girl, 
I  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  Dorfeuille's  Museum, 
in  our  city;  and  one  box,  into  which  you  looked 
through  a  circular  glass,  held  treasures  to  me. 
They  were  paintings — beautiful  views  of  celebrated 
places  in  Europe,  sunny  squares  surrounded  by 
huge  marble  palaces,  and  crossed  by  beautiful  girls 
and  gay  officers;  the  palaces  were  so  high,  the  air 
so  sunny,  the  costumes  so  picturesque,  they  seemed 
exquisite  works  to  me  then,  and  are  now,  for  all 
have  been  hung  in  my  little  head;  and  whenever 
I  hear  a  hand-organ,  I  begin  pulling  them  up  and 
down,  as  of  old;  for,  all  the  time  I  gazed  entranced 
upon  the  pictures — very  rude  they  were,  I  suspect 
— a  hand-organ  charmed  my  young  ears.  There- 
fore I  have  a  weakness,  and  say,  Street-organs  play 
on,  and  beggary  prosper,  while  I  look  at  the 
original — ohl  not  near  so  captivatingly  beautiful  as 
their  counterfeit  presentments  were  in  Dorfeuille's 
Museum. 

A   carriage    stops    at    our    door — a  plain,  unpre- 
tending equipage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  horses  beau- 

5* 


106  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

tiful  as  night,  and  looking  fleet  as  the  wind.  How 
dearly  I  love  horses — -noble,  generous,  strong,  beau- 
tiful animals.  I  miss  my  friends  in  these  wander- 
ings, I  miss  many  comforts  and  a  few  luxuries; 
but  of  all,  the  most  noted  and  remembered  and 
sighed  over  is  Coney — fleet,  docile,  yet  spirited 
Coney — tossing  his  snow-white  mane  upon  the  free 
wind  of  the  prairies,  and  with  the  life  of  a  troop 
of  wild  horses  in  joyous  action.  But  I  must  not 
be  taken  by  horses  from  the  man — the  one  who 
steps  from  the  carriage,  and  now  stands  talking  to 
the  coachman.  This  is  the  first  nobleman,  the  first 
real  lord,  I  have  seen — the  imaginary  character  of 
the  novel  and  play — the  class  who  live  now  but 
for  one  purpose,  and  that  is,  to  be  married  or 
killed  in  two  or  three  volumes.  As  a  free  Ameri- 
can, I  must  confess  I  stretched  my  neck  to  the 
aching  point  for  a  good  view  of  Lord  ,  L. — not 
Lovell  of  the  ballad,  the  interesting  gentleman  who 
left  his  lady-love  so  cruelly  "for  a  year  and  a 
day,"  but  a  substantial  middle-aged  specimen,  with 
red  whiskers  very  neatly  trimmed.  We  are  very 
fond  of  titles  at  home ;  but  I  hope  we  will  never 
possess  any  without  some  meaning  attached.  Col- 
onels, Generals,  and  Judges,  are  bad  enough;  but 
when  it  comes  to  the  mere  trickery  of  a  name, 
without  some  idea  of  use  or  employment  connected 


SIGHTS    FROM    A    BALCONY.  107 

with  it,  I  trust  we  will  stop.     I  ask  pardon — the  use 
of  Counts,  Baronets,  and  Lords,  is  to  fill  up  novels. 

French  politeness  has  become  proverbial.  I  do 
not  think,  however,  the  characteristic  aimed  at  is 
well  understood,  or  such  a  term  would  not  be  used. 
If  by  politeness  we  mean  good-heartedness,  that 
seeks  others'  pletnsure,  it  is  sadly  misapplied.  The 
French,  as  a  people,  have  very  little  feeling.  It  is 
the  pride  of  one  class  to  appear  civil,  well-bred. 
Of  the  tradesmen,  it  is  their  interest  to  be  almost 
servile;  but  outside  of  these,  we  encounter  the 
rudest  beings  on  earth.  A  French  lady  gives  you 
a  welcome,  and  you  feel  that  it  is  from  the  lips, 
however  choice  the  phrase  or  impressive  the  man- 
ner. You  go  to  purchase  an  article,  and  the  shop 
man  or  woman  comes  to  you  with  a  manner  that 
seems  to  say,  "Here  is  a  dear  friend,  what  can  I 
do  for  her?  This  is  the  long-lost  sister,  just  re- 
turned from  America — the  beautiful  sister — the  sis- 
ter not  beloved,  but  worshiped.  What  can  be 
done  in  this  shop  for  this  good  relative — would  it 
be  pleasant  to  take  it  all — would  it  be  well  to  be 
nothing  but  a  slave  to  this  dear  friend?"  Well, 
after  a  deal  of  talk — all  on  one  side,  for  you  can 
scarcely  get  in  a  word — you  purchase  some  article, 
aud  take  it  home,  to  discover  that  you  have  been 
cheated  most  ridiculously — paying  two  prices  for 


108 


BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 


!  '  IftlilkN  a  worthless  thing.     The  proprietor 

of  a  store  into  which  I  can 
look  when  I  sit,  is  a  fair 
specimen   of  this 
class.     lie  is 
a  tall,  spare 
man    with 
black  beard 
oiled  to  the 
last    extent. 
He    has  an 
eternal  sim- 
per—I  will 
not    call    it 
s  m  i  1  e — on 
his    counte- 
nance, while 

his  back  is  made  up  of  hinges.  You  have  only 
to  watch  the  reception  and  cheating  of  a  dozen,  to 
realize  your  own  case. 

What  is  this,  moving  so  slowly  along  the  pave- 
ment? A  funeral — the  burial  of  some  poor  per- 
son, for  the  bier  is  very  rude,  carried  upon  the 
shoulders  of  four  men.  The  coffin,  covered  with  a 
black  cloth  with  a  cross  in  the  center,  is  that  of  a 
child.  The  men  walk  slowly  and  tenderly,  even 
as  if  they  feared  to  disturb  the  little  sleeper.  A 


SIGHTS    FKOM    A    BALCONY.  109 

poor  woman  follows,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would 
break,  supported  on  one  side  by  her  husband  in 
his  blouse,  on  the  other  by  a  sympathizing  neigh- 
bor, doubtless.  This  is  a  poor  show,  a  wretched 
concern,  coming  through  a  fashionable  quarter. 
One  supposes  that  with  such  a  heartless  people  it 
would  be  avoided,  hardly  seen — bade  go  down 
back  alleys  and  common  streets.  But  no ;  the 
crowd  gives  way  respectfully,  while  far  and  near 
upon  the  streets,  as  it  passes,  men  remove  their 
hats.  See,  in  that  carriage  the  lady  bows  her  head, 
and  makes  the  sign  of  the  cross,  while  the  gentle- 
man at  her  side  uncovers  his  head  with  reverence. 
After  all,  this  is  not  a  bad  world,  even  in  Paris. 

"The  clouds  shut  in  the  night,"  brighter  up 
where  the  stars  begin  to  twinkle — deeper  in  tb-3 
narrow  streets  below ;  but  now  the  lamp-lighter 
darts  along,  dropping  a  star  here  and  there;  tLe 
stores  begin  to  twinkle,  and  now  glare  out,  just 
as  the  lights  do  over  the  wide  thoroughfares  in 
Washington;  and  the  stars  shine  there  as  here; 
but  not  here  gathers  the  little  circle,  and  drop  the 
curtains,  and  draw  out  the  table  to  the  music  of 
laughing  voices  and  twinkling  cups,  while  Pe^cr 

—but,  were  I  to  say  all  I  feel,  it  would  c  st 
you  a  deal  of  postage.  So,  good-bye,  and  G  A 
bless  you  with  many  more  such  meetings. 


VIII. 

of 


O  city  in  the  world  has  its  popula- 
tion  so  densely  packed  together  as 
Paris.  Families  build  and  live  one  above 
the  other,  crowding  the  towering  houses 
ibove  the  narrow  streets,  making  these  thorough- 
£ires  look  as  if  they  were  dammed  up,  and  over- 
flowing the  side-walks.  Such  a  city,  above  all 
others,  requires  breathing-places ;  and  such  Paris 
has  to  the  handsomest  extent.  What  a  contrast  to 
our  own,  where  mean  selfishness  builds  up  every 
corner,  where  Nature  is  pared  down  and  walled  out 
and  all  the  crannies  by  which  fresh  air  can  entei 
are  carefully  plastered  over.  I  sometimes  think  that 
a  little  despotism  is  not  such  a  very  bad  thing.  I 
think  so  when  I  see  the  poor  and  much -abused 


THE    LUNGS    OF    PARIS.  Ill 

workmen,  surrounded  by  wives  and  children,  en- 
joying the  fresh  air  and  Heaven's  sunlight  in 
gardens,  where  all  that  art  can  bring,  in  statues, 
walks,  fountains,  and  terraces,  are  theirs — and  re- 
member the  suffocating  filth  of  New  York,  and 
the  suffering  poor  of  New  York.  Yet  D.  tells  me 
that  the  expenses  of  the  last  are  greater  in  proportion 
than  those  of  Paris,  and  the  taxation  infinitely 
heavier.  I  see  Louis  Napoleon  widening  streets, 
and  adorning  gardens,  all  open  to  the  people,  and 
wish,  very  heartily,  that  he  could  be  Emperor  of 
New  York  and  Cincinnati  long  enough  to  knock 
down  whole  squares  in  each,  and  open  gardens  for 
rich  and  poor  alike. 

If  you  could  only  walk  with  me  here,  some  sunny 
afternoon,  you  would  realize  what  I  tell  you.  We 
have  our  little  rooms  nearly  at  the  top  of  a  popu- 
lation, I  cannot  say  of  how  many,  and,  descending 
the  winding  grand  stairway,  receive  the  humble, 
delighted  salutation  of  the  concierge,  and  we  are 
in  the  Place  de  la  Madeleine.  The  afternoon  is  rare, 
sunny,  warm,  and  rapidly  nearing  to  the  end  of  the 
season.  One  voiture  alone  is  on  the  stand,  and  the 
poor  horse  of  this  gives  unmistakable  evidences 
of  being  just  off  duty.  Equipage  after  equipage 
flashes  by  from  Eue  Tronchet,  and  you  hear  the  roar 
of  the  Boulevards.  We  turn  down  Rue  Eoyale 


112  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

toward  Place  de  la  Concorde,  and  edge  our  way 
through,  the  crowd  that  throngs  the  side-walks,  until 
we  are  at  the  place ;  and  here,  wishing  to  cross  the 
street,  we  must  pause,  for  all  Paris  is  rushing  by 
on  wheels,  into  the  Boulevard,  that,  stretching  like 
a  main  artery,  or  a  great  stream,  up  through  Paris, 
has  its  tributaries  in  the  by-streets,  alleys,  and  courts, 
which  pour  into  it  the  crowd,  that,  gathering  in 
a  mighty  current,  empties  itself  into  Place  de  la 
Concorde,  and  spreads  upon  the  avenue  of  the 
Champs  Elyse'es,  and  far  out  into  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne. 

"What  a  study,  to  stand  upon  the  side-walks,  as 
well  as  you  are  able — for  one  is  horribly  knocked 
and  shoved  about — and  look  at  the  mad  life  whirl- 
ing by !  How  furiously  they  drive,  and  what  a 
strange  medley !  The  gold  and  silver  family,-car- 
riage  of  the  wealthy  bourgeois,  clustered  all  over 
with  fat  lackeys  in  gaudy  liveries,  is  jostled  against 
by  the  common  voiture,  hobbling  along,  with  the 
fattest  and  coarsest  of  drivers,  and  carrying  a  family 
of  blouses.  The  subdued  but  aristocratic  coach  is 
passed  by  an  open  remise,  in  which  are  students, 
with  their  tasseled  caps,  and  never-to-be-forgotten 
pipes.  And  so  they  all  rattle  by,  for  their  after- 
noon's drive,  in  which  they  are  arrested  by  no 
turnpike-gates,  and  choked  up  by  no  dust,  for  the 


THE    LUNGS    OF    PARIS. 

ways   are   open   to    all,  and    free    from    every  nui- 
sance. 

A  chance  opening  presents  itself;  in  common 
with  fifty  others,  we  start  across  the  street,  and  with 
numerous  little  runs  and  stops,  amid  shouts  of 
"gare,"  we  gain  the  opposite  side,  and  have  space 
to  breathe.  We  are  in  Place  de  la  Concorde,  the 
wide  open  space  between  the  Tuileries  and  Champs 
Elysees,  and  bordering  on  the  river.  The  spot 
where  once  the  guillotine  did  its  fearful  work,  but 
now  ornamented  with  columns,  statues,  and  fountains, 
superbly  paved  with  stone,  and,  at  the  moment 
bathed  in  sunlight,  filled  with  merry  citizens  and 
rattling  carriages,  one  can  scarcely  realize  its  fearful 
history.  We  turn  from  the 'Place  into  the  Gardens 
of  the  Tuileries,  through  a  beautiful  gateway,  orna- 
mented on  each  side  by  what  seem  masses  of 
marble ;  but,  on  closer  view  of  either,  you  make 
out  a  marble  horse,  leaping,  from  some  unknown 
reason,  over  a  huge,  mis-shapen  stump,  and  upon 
the  back  of  which  miraculously  sits  a  maiden,  who, 
not  discomposed  by  horse  or  stump,  blows  a  dinner 
horn. 

Here  we  are,  in  the  Gardens  of  the  Tuileries ;  and 
the  first  object  that  strikes  you  is  a  column  of 
water,  that  tosses  its  snowy  mane  far  up  above  the. 
trees,  in  the  centre  of  the  long  avenue  that  leads  to 


114  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

the  palace.  Let  me  say  here,  that  when  we  do 
attempt  any  thing  at  home,  we  are  not  to  be  outdone. 
I  have  seen  nothing  here,  in  the  way  of  a  fountain, 
that  can  compare  to  that  glorious  one  of  the  Park 
in  New  York.  There  is  one  at  Versailles,  which 
makes  a  slight  approach,  but  it  exhibits  but  an  hour 
every  three  months,  and  fails  in  its  resemblance,  as 
did  Paddy's  account  of  the  Genesee,  when  coaxing 
us  to  ride  out  in  his  hack,  and  look  at  the  falls — 
"Jist  like  Niagara,  yer  honors  and  ladies,  barrin 
the  water."  The  next  object,  and  yet  more  striking, 
are  the  thousands  of  children  turned  loose  in  this 
place.  Here  they  are,  the  rosy-faced,  merry-hearted 
little  creatures.  How  their  tiny  voices  ring  out  in 
laughter,  as  they  roll  their  hoops,  dance,  or  tumble 
over  each  other !  What  a  dear,  delicious  sight ! 
finer,  as  William  Corry  told  me  at  Niagara,  than 
the  great  cataract,  as  an  object  of  interest  in  this 
world — the  people's  gardens,  and  the  people's  children 
in  them,  at  play.  Perfectly  at  home,  no  restraint 
whatever,  the  ouvrier  smokes  his  pipe,  with  his 
wife  upon  his  arm,  poorly  clad,  but  scrupulously 
clean — the  bourgeois  indulges  in  his  cigar  and  jour- 
nal, while  the  exquisite  works  of  art — statues  placed 
here  and  there — the  greatest  efforts  of  departed 
genius,  were  safe  in  this  familiarity  which  would 
be  so  fatal  here.  See  that  crowd  of  boys,  clambering 


THE    LUNGS    OF    PARIS.  115 

* 

upon  the  base"  of  Orion,  and  holding  on  and  swinging 
round  under  his  huge  legs.  I  expect  almost  to  see 
them  climb-  upon  the  armed  sentry,  who  solemnly 
paces  to  and  fro,  interrupting  no  one,  yet  seeing  all. 
These  children  are  generally  in  groups  of  four  or 
five,  under  the  care  of  one  nurse,  or  bonne,  as  she 
is  called,  and  from  different  families,  who  are  sent 
here  in  pleasant  weather,  for  exercise  and  air. 
Such  disposition  of  the  little  ones  seems  strange,  and 
I  hardly  think  an  American  mother  could  be  found 
to  consent  to  such  <an  arrangement.  It  is  good  for 
the  children,  I  suppose,  but  very  bad  for  the  parents. 
An  instance  connected  with  this  disposal  of  the 
younger  troubles  came  under  my  notice  lately,  that 
amused  me  greatly.  Nannette,  the  bonne  of  an 
acquaintance,  a  good-natured,  chatty  little  woman, 
talking  some  English  in  a  confused  way,  is  in  the 
habit  of  visiting  our  rooms,  and  helping  us  with 
advice  on  all  subjects.  One  day,  while  rattling 
away,  I  heard  a  plaintive  female's  voice  in  the  court 
below ;  and,  going  to  the  window,  saw  a  poor 
woman,  with  three  children  playing  round  her, 
neatly  dressed,  while  a  babe  slept  in  her  arms, 
and  she  piped  away  most  dismally.  Nannette,  who 
had  followed  me  to  the  window,  suddenly  broke 
out  in  the  most  voluble  French,  in  which  I  could 
only  distinguish  the  favorite  epithets  of  "brigand." 


116  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

"  thief,"  "  pig,"  &c. ;  and  suddenly  she  ran  out,  and 
directly  I  saw  her  attacking  the  poor  woman  most 
vehemently  with  her  tongue.  She  ended  by  seizing 
the  three  children  and  dragging  them  to  our  apart- 
ments, while  she  commenced  again : 

"Behold,  madam!  see,  madam!  the  thief,  the  pig, 
the  brigand !  You,  madam,  saw  her.  I  beg  madam 
to  remember  the  robber,  the  pig !"  And  here  the 
French  became  so  voluble,  I  could  not  understand 
it,  but  learned,  afterwards,  that  the  seeming  beggar 
was  in  reality  a  bonne,  employed  to  take  care  of 
these  poor  children,  and  had  put  the  representatives 
of  various  families  into  use,  by  exhibiting  the  little 
innocents  as  a  distressed  family. 

To  the  public  are  dedicated  these  gardens  of  the 
Tuileries — so  large,  that  the  so-called  Park  of  New 
York  would  be  lost  in  one  corner  of  them.  Then, 
we  have  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  capable  of  hold- 
ing six  squares  of  Philadelphia,  at  least.  Adjoin- 
ing the  Place,  are  the  Champs  Elysees,  yet  larger, 
terminating  in  the  avenue  that  leads  to  the  Arch 
of  Triumph;  and  all,  I  should  think,  extending 
over  a  mile.  These  are  on  the  Seine,  and,  when 
you  add  the  breadth  of  the  river  to  these  public 
grounds,  your  readers  may  have  some  idea  of  the 
extent  of  the  breathing  places  in  the  very  centre 
of  Paris.  But  this  is  not  all.  We  have  the  gar- 


THE    LUNGS    OF    PAKIS.  117 

dens  of  the  Luxembourg,  with  the  stately  palace, 
surrounded  by  extensive  grounds,  rich  in  noblest 
works  of  art,  and  richer  yet  in  historical  associa- 
tions. Every  step  one  takes,  a  name  comes  up 
that  carries  with  it  a  volume  of  memories  and  feel- 
ing. In  these  shaded  walks,  to  the  music  of  these 
same  fountains,  under  the  marble  gaze  of  these 
ideal  creations,  what  comedies,  what  tragedies,  had 
been  enacted  by  the  beautiful,  the  brave,  the  coward- 
ly, the  mean — the  poor  slave  and  grasping  power — 
all  sleeping  in  death  hundreds  of  years  ago  I  In 
our  visit  to  the  Luxembourg,  quite  all  of  its  his- 
toric memories  were  thrown  away  upon  D.  In  his 
fierce  democracy,  he  affected  to  despise  all  refer- 
ences to  the  bad,  yet  fascinating  Medicis,  the  busy 
Guise,  or  stupid  Orleans.  lie  considered  them  trash, 
and  insisted  on  looking  a  long  while  at  the  mag- 
nificent salle  du  Senat,  where,  in  1848,  Louis  Blanc 
held  his  socialist  meetings  of  workmen.  This  gen- 
man,  D.  was  very  enthusiastic  over,  pronouncing  it 
a  sublime  spectacle — that  presence  of  toiling  thou- 
sands, collected  in  this  aristocratic  palace,  to  hear 
from  their  great  leader  plans  of  amelioration,  by 
which  they  might  have  sacred  homes  and  daily 
bread.  For  my  part,  I  am  not  quite  so  enthused 
with  the  leveling  system.  I  think  often  of  Emer- 
son's illustration,  when  he  said  that  "uniform  cases 


118  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

will  do  to  hold  spoons,  but  the  marble  statue  must 
have  its  pedestal." 

Besides  these,  we  have  the  gardens  of  Palais 
Koyale,  of  Plantes,  and  public  gardens  and  squares 
without  number,  to  say  nothing  of  the  places  of 
public  resort  outside  the  city,  that  would  require 
a  volume  to  notice  properly.  One  thing  strikes 
an  American,  possessed  of  tastes  as  lordly  as  old 
forests  grow — and  that  is,  the  barbarous  manner  in 
which  Frenchmen  treat  nature.  A  tree,  in  the  eye 
of  a  Frenchman,  is  a  thing  to  be  cultivated,  to  be 
trained,  to  be  dressed ;  and  he  goes  about  it  in  a 
perfect  frenzy.  First,  he  saws  off  all  the  limbs  he 
can  reach ;  then  he  scrapes  the  trunk,  until  it  re- 
sembles a  barber's  pole.  This  done,  he  takes  a  sur- 
vey, and  considers  whether  the  tree  shall  be  of  the 
Doric,  Ionic,  Corinthian,  or  Composite  order  of  archi- 
tecture; whether  it  shall  be  a  Chinese  pagoda  or  a 
chateau — a  dog  kennel  or  a  cathedral.  This  im- 
portant point  settled,  he  rushes  at  the  devoted  tree 
— he  saws,  he  chops,  he  clips  with  shears,  and  cuts 
with  knives,  until  the  tree  disappears,  and  the  crea- 
tion is  finished;  and  then  his  expressive  and  satis- 
factory phrase  is,  " tres  gentil"  The  trees  in  the 
grounds  of  the  Tuileries  look  as  if  they  had  started 
from  the  ground  at  military  command,  and  were 
prepared  to  march  upon  you  in  platoons. 


THE    LUNGS    OF    PARIS.  119 

There  is  one  city  in  the  Union  yet  capable  of 
the  most  unlimited  improvements,  and  that  is  the 
city  of  Washington.  I  have,  you  know,  never  seen 
it  in  summer ; ''but,  from  what  D.  and  others  tell 
me,  I  can  recognize  what  a  magnificent  place  it 
must  yet  be.  It  has  natural  advantages,  I  am 
satisfied,  no  city  in  the  world  can  exceed;  the 
broad  Potomac,  flowing  so  dreamily  away  to  the 
sea — a  river  I  always  associate  in  my  mind  with 
General  Washington — full,  calm,  deep,  and  strong. 
His  remains  sleep  upon  its  bank;  the  capital  of 
our  nation,  bearing  his  name,  looks  on  its  waters; 
and,  so  long  as  we  have  a  love  for  the  godlike 
man,  or  an  admiration  for  his  deeds,  we  should 
spare  no  efforts  to  enrich  and  adorn  the  city  which 
he  planned,  and  which  is  rapidly  becoming  asso- 
ciated in  our  minds  with  all  that  is  national.  D. 
tells  me  that  in  the  summer  the  inequalities  of 
hills  and  dale  and  gentle  slope  of  the  grounds 
about  the  Presidential  mansion,  with  glimpses  of 
the  sparkling  Potomac  'caught  through  vistas  of 
green  isles,  present  beauties  unequaled  in  public 
grounds  here.  When  the  water  shall  have  been 
brought  into  the  city,  as  now  proposed,  and  fount- 
ains erected,  pawing  with  silver  hoofs  and  tossing 
their  snowy  manes  in  the  sunlight,  above  the  green 
foliage,  as  if  rejoicing  in  their  freedom,  I  think 


120  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

the  time-worn  sneer  will  fade  out  at  last,  and  our 
capital  recognized  to  be  in  fact,  what  it  is  capable 
of  becoming,  the  most  beautiful  city  in  the  Union. 
Every  sunny  afternoon,  immediately  after  dinner, 
we  walk  to  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  and,  select- 
ing chairs  near  the  military  band,  that  with  the 
fountains  fill  the  air  with  sweet  sounds,  dream  away 
two  hours,  in  listening  and  gazing  at  the  quiet, 
happy  things  around.  I  am  told  that  while  Paris 
was  in  an  uproar  of  a  revolution,  the  citizens  were 
here  in  numbers,  with  their  wives  and  children — 
so  strong  is  habit,  so  powerful  the  taste  for  recrea- 
tion, in  these  gay  Parisians.  One  afternoon,  while 
we  were  drinking  in  the  evening  air,  and  as  near 
positive  enjoyment  as  positive  quiet  will  bring,  I 
heard  a  scream,  and  the  next  moment  was  almost 
frightened  •  to  death,  by  being  seized  and  nearly 
crushed  in  the  arms  of  an  apparent  stranger. 
'Good  heavens!  Bell  Smith,  is  this  you?  Where 
did  you  drop  from?  In  Paris,  as  I  live.  I  am  so 
glad.  When  did  you  get  here  ?  How  long  do  you 
stay?  Can  you  speak  French  yet?"  were  words 
roared  in  my  ears.  When  I  could  get  the  attack- 
ing party  at  sufficient  distance,  I  recognized  our 

fleshy  friend,  Mrs.  ,  of ,  with  her  little, 

lamb-like  husband  peering  under  her  shoulder.     We 
a&t  down,  and,  between   pinches  of  snuff,  I  had  all 


THE    LUNGS    OF     PARIS.  121 

Europe  done  up.  They  had  rushed  through  Italy, 
flew  through  Germany,  knew  something  of  Spain, 
peeped  into  Turkey,  had  a  distant  idea  of  Eussia; 
and,  with  no  knowledge  whatever  of  art,  science, 
or  language,  had  been  cheated,  robbed,  abused, 
bored,  and  sickened  to  death.  "Only  think,  dear 
Bell,  when  we  came  over  the  Alps  in  our  own 
carriage,  we  had  such  a  time.  Lem,  (her  husband,) 
where  is  that  stoopid  courier?  We  have  a  courier, 
dear — pretends  to  speak  English,  don't  know  a  word ; 
stoopid.  I  believe  he  is  an  emissary,  or  a  thief. 
"Well,  as  I  tell  you,  I  bought  a  cocked  hat,  and 
top-boots,  to  make  Lem  look  like  Napoleon,  and 
study  the  picturesque — you  know  one  must  study 
something  here,  and  not  throw  one's  money  away. 
Well,  we  got  along  well  enough,  till  we  came  to 
a  lonely,  dismal  place,  where  the  veturiny  told  us 
to  go  to  a  certain  place  in  the  rocks,  where  Napo- 
leon went  and  took  a  view.  Well,  we  went,  do 
you  believe;  it  was  an  awful  place;  but  I  took 
the  hat  and  boots  and  courier  and  I  dressed  up 
poor  Lem,  and  set  him  off  on  a  rock,  with  arms 
folded;  but,  bless  your  dear  heart,  the  lamb  looked 
exactly  like  a  scarecrow,  and  I  liked  to  have  died 
with  laughing.  It  was  no  laughing  matter,  though, 
Bell.  Coming  back,  we  liked  to  have  lost  our  way 
>  -fell  down  awful  places — dear  Lem  smashed  his 

6 


122  BELL    SMITH  .ABKOAD. 

hat,  broke  his  watch,  and  lost  his  pocket-book; 
and  our  stoopid  courier  fell  down  fifty  times,  and 
tore  his  clothes;  said  he  was  hurt  in  the  key-nees — 
meant  knees.  Mean  goose,  can't  speak  a  word  of 
English.  "Well,  when  we  got  back,  we  found  our 
carriage  had  been  robbed  by  brigands,  and  the 
veturiny  tied,  with  his  mouth  full  of  pebbles.  I 
don't  linow  what  he  kept  the  pebbles  in  his  mouth 
for ;  but  every  thing  was  gone — all  my  beautiful  vel- 
vets, laces — every  thing,  dear,  was  gone.  The  horses, 
even,  were  gone ;  they  had  been  cut  loose,  and  were 
run  away.  We  had  to  walk  miles  and  miles,  till 
I  thought  I  should  drop.  Poor  Lem,  he  just 
fainted  twice,  outright,  and  our  courier  groaned 
over  his  key-nees,  and  so  we  went  along,  like 
artists,  students,  singing-women,  and  such  low  peo- 
ple, till  we  got  to  a  town ;  and  the  courier  took 
all  my  jewelry,  and  poor  Lem's  broken  watch,  and 
came  back  with  only  about  thirty  dollars — the  mean 
fellow,  I  believe  he  stole  three-fourths.  We  were 
.charged  four  prices  at  the  dirty  inn,  had  to  get  in 
the  meanest  part  of  the  diligence,  were  nearly  suf- 
focated by  some  students,  who  smoked  and  smelled 
of  garlic.  At — what 's  the  name  of  that  town? — 
never  mind,  we  were  put  in  the  third-class  cars, 
with  no  cover  to  them,  and  it  came  on  to  rain — 
my,  but  it  did  rain.  I  thought  dear  Lem  would 


THE    LUNGS    OF    PARIS.  123 

be  washed  away.  Well,  never  mind,  it  's  all  over 
now,  and  I  'm  glad  of  it.  It  was  a  wonderful  ad- 
venture. Not  many  can  say  they  were  robbed  in 
the  Alps,  by  brigands.  Lem,  dear,  where  is  that 
courier  ?  We  can't  talk  French,  and  he  don't  know 
much  English,  I  must  say.  Where  do  you  stay, 
dear  Bell?" 


IX. 


ani  fnutual. 


NE  hears  much,  of  the  police,  their 
extraordinary  discipline,  activity, 
and  success,  but  the  stories  are 
so  strange  that  it  requires  a  de- 
cided organ  of  wonder  to  receive 
them  with  belief.  I  was  dispos- 
ed at  first  to  set  the  majority  of 
them  to  the  account  of  wonder- 
ful tales  for  strangers;  but  a  little 
event  lately  occurring  with  us,  has 
opened  my  mind  to  the  fact  that  an 
unseen  power  really  surrounds,  and, 
whether  for  good  or  ill,  exercises  a  start- 
ling influence.  This  system,  I  believe, 
grew  up  under  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  His 
historian  cannot  claim  the  honor  or  dishonor, 
just  as  one  views  it,  of  being  the  inventor.  The 
institution,  as  we  would  call  it,  is  the  necessary 
part  of  a  despotic  Government,  and  existed  in 


POLICE    AND    PRACTICAL.  125 

Fiance  for  centuries.  But  Napoleon  first  arranged 
this  strong  arm  of  Government,  and,  in  addition  to 
using  it  as  a  political  engine,  perfected  it  almost  as 
a  part  of  the  criminal  code.  This,  under  various 
forms  of  government,  has  continued  ever  active 
and  effective.  I  think  it  has  birth  in  the  peculiari- 
ty of  the  French ;  no  other  people'  would  think  of 
this  system — certainly  no  other  people  would  sub- 
mit to  such.  It  would  take  up  more  space  than 
I  can  give  you,  and  call  for  more  postage  than 
you  would  spare,  to  attempt  any  thing  like  the  de- 
tails of  this  complicated  affair;  and  besides,  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  do  not  know  them. 

We  had  been  in  Paris  but  a  few  months,  when 
the  discovery  was  made  that ,  our  domestic  had 
very  improper  notions  upon  the  sacred  rights  of 
property,  and  appropriated  various  little  articles  to 
herself.  "We,  of  course,  dismissed  the  offender ;  and, 
about  three  weeks  after,  Lucy  announced  the  fact 
that  a  piece  of  jewelry,  not  worth  in  itself  over  a 
hundred  dollars,  but  valuable  to  her  otherwise  as 
a  keepsake,  was  among  the  missing.  The  poor 
child  was  in  tears,  and,  at  her  earnest  request,  D. 
went  to  the  police  with  the  grievance.  To  com- 
plain of  our  late  domestic  was  absurd,  as  the  article 
had  been  missed  so  long  after  her  departure.  "We 
were  satisfied  that  she  had  taken  the  pin  with  her, 


126  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

but  had  no  evidence.  The  official  listened  patiently, 
asked  numerous  questions,  made  a  few  notes,  and 
then,  in  answer  to  some  inquiries  of  D.,  shook  his 
head,  and  said  nothing.  D.  again  called  on  him, 
instigated  by  friends,  who  assured  us  the  polue 
would  not  let  it  rest,  but  received  no  encouragement, 
and  we  let  the  matter  drop.  Some  time  after — so 
long,  indeed,  that  we  had  forgotten  the  domestic, 
police  and  all- — Lucy  suddenly  rushed  into  the  dining 
room  with  the  missing  jewelry.  She  had  found  it, 
carefully  wrapped  in  paper,  lying  upon  the  table 
in  her  room.  Between  the  time  of  the  loss  and 
recovery,  we  had  removed  to  a  distant  part  in  Paris, 
from  our  first  residence,  and  again  changed  our 
domestic.  D.  immediately  called  upon  the  police 
officer,  who  smiled  when  he  saw  him  enter,  but 
gave  no  explanation  of  the  mysterious  return  of 
the  missing  trifle. 

Another  instance  was  related  to  me  lately.  AD 
American  lady  hired  a  coach  she  met  in  the  street, 
and  kept  it  four  hours.  After  returning  to  her 
hotel,  she  found  she  had  lost  a  valuable  watch  and 
chain,  and,  satisfied  that  she  must  have  dropped  it 
in  the  coach,  she  gave  information  to  the  police, 
but  could  not  remember  the  number  of  the  carriage, 
and,  as  she  had  engaged  it  in  the  street,  had  con- 
sequently no  clue  to  the  stand  or  stable.  She  could 


POLICE    AND    PRACTICAL.  127 

not  even  remember  a  peculiarity  about  horse,  car- 
riage, or  driver.  The  officer  had  only  the  part  of 
the  street  where  the  coach  was  first  engaged,  and 
the  fact  that  the  driver,  on  being  dismissed,  had 
turned  round  and  driven  in  an  opposite  direction 
from  the  one  he  came.  This  was  exceedingly  slight 
material  to  go  on,  yet  in  five  hours  her  watch  and 
.chain  were  returned  uninjured. 

Mrs.  R.,  while  walking  on  the  Boulevards,  dropped 
her  pocket-book.  She  missed  the  article  within  five 
minutes  of  its  loss,  and  going  immediately  to  the 
nearest  police-station,  stated  her  troubles.  At  the 
conclusion  of  her  short  description,  the  officer  quietly 
opened  a  drawer,1  and  handed  her  the  missing  port- 
monnaie.  It  had  but  a  moment  before  been  brought 
in  by  a  street- cleaner — contents  untouched.  Residents 
and  visitors  at  Paris  will  give  you  any  quantity  of 
instances  such  as  these.  But  it  is  as  a  political 
machine  that  the  system  appears  the  most  startling. 
To  believe  all  one  hears  is  to  put  faith  in  necro- 
mancy. We  do  know,  however,  that  suspected 
persons  have  no  secrets,  and  no  life  out  of  the 
keeping  of  the  powers  in  existence.  His  apartments 
are  open  to  the  police — when  the  lodger  is  out,  they 
are  in.  His  property  is  closely  inspected — his  trunks, 
drawers,  writing  desk,  cupboards,  and,  in  fact,  every 
recess  known  or  attempted  to  be  hidden  are  opened, 


128  BELL    SMITH     ABROAD. 

nnd  written  inventories,  careful  copies  o*f  all  papers, 
made  for  the  inspection  and  consideration  of  their 
masters.  Nor  will  any  attempts  at  ordinary  con- 
cealment serve  the  purpose.  The  suspected  can  not 
take  a  walk  to  the  post-office,  that  the  spies  are 
not  at  work — piercing  clothes  with  long  needles, 
knocking  at  the  furniture,  pounding  on  the  walls, 
and  rattling  at  locks.  Should  Monsieur,  being  sus- 
pected, return  unexpectedly,  the  concierge  keeps 
him  in  conversation  on  some  trivial  pretense,  until 
the  agents  escape.  F.  P.,  our  friend,  who  took  so 
active  a  part  under  the  Republic,  and  is  now,  in 
consequence,  an  exile,  said  the  Provisional  Govern- 
ment made  some  amusing  discoveries — and  he,  to 
his  astonishment,  found  even  copies  of  his  love  letters 
on  file.  What  was  remarkable  under  Louis  Phil- 
ippe, is  twice  so  under  the  present  Emperor. 

I  have  blamed  myself  for  not  writing  you,  since 
I  first  took  to  ink,  the  thousand  and  one  things  a 
woman  observes  which  almost  every  one  wishes  to 
know — the  little  matters  which  are  generally  con- 
sidered beneath  the  dignity  of  a  foreign  correspond- 
ent, but  which  are  so  useful,  and,  in  most  instances, 
pleasant.  How  do  you  live,  and  what  is  the  cost 
of  living?  are  the  two  questions  most  frequently 
asked  by  Americans,  and  so  rarely  answered  satis- 
factorily. To  the  first,  I  answer,  that  much  depends 


POLICE    AND    PRACTICAL.  189 

upon  the  purpose  with  which  you  come  to  Paris — 
if  for  that  of  study,  it  certainly  offers  advantages 
not  met  with  probably  any  where  else.  The  grand 
old  cathedrals,  palaces,  paintings,  statuary— the  vast 
libraries — the  schools  established  and  supported  by 
Government — the  many  places  covered  with  historical 
associations,  offer  advantages  of  such  a  character 
that  one  can  undergo  many  privations  for  the  pur- 
pose of  enjoying  them.  But  if  comfort  or  enjoy- 
ment is  the  object,  Paris  is  the  last  place  to  seek 
for  a  residence.  Comfort  is  out  of  the  question, 
and  the  enjoyments  are  traditions.  What  can  one 
think  of  a  people  without  the  word  "  home"  in. 
their  language — without  a  chimney,  in  an  immense 
city,  that  smokes  at  the  right  end ;  of  a  people  who 
sell  wood  and  coal  by  the  weight,  and  burn  them 
in  homeopathic  doses?  Why,  a  Frenchman  never 
thinks  of  making  a  fire,  if  he  can  look  from  his 
room  across  the  street  in  at  his  neighbor's.  What 
is  to  be  thought  of  a  people  whose  circulating 
medium  is  copper,  and  counted  by  centimes? 

We  have  been  called  a  money-making  people,  as 
compared  to  the  French;  it  is  a  vile  slander.  To 
come  from  New  York  to  this  place  is  to  leave  a 
generous,  impulsive  people,  for  a  narrow,  avaricious 
crowd,  that  come  so  unexpectedly  upon  you  that 

you    are   astounded,   and  hesitate  about  expressing 

6* 


130  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

the  fact.  You  leave  a  great  heart  of  a  great  country, 
throbbing  with  the  tremendous  currents  of  a  world- 
wide commerce,  and  moving  with  the  dignity  of  a 
nation  possessed  of  a  destiny,  for  a  country  of  trades- 
people without  trade,  and  avaricious  without  money. 
The  profusion,  the  waste  even,  that  flows  around 
you  at  home,  liberal  as  the  day,  as  contrasted  with 
the  petty  meanness,  the  want  that  lives  threadbare 
here,  proves  how  we  have  been  slandered.  A  mer- 
chant with  us  is  a  gentleman ;  here  he  is  a  cheat 
You  can  not  enter  a  store  in  Paris,  and  not  have 
two  prices  asked  for  any  article  you  wish  to  pur- 
chase ;  and  when  you  remonstrate  at  such  impudent 
exaction,  the  scamp  invariably  asks,  "What  will 
madame  give?"  There  is  not  a  certain  price  carrying 
a  fair  profit  upon  any  article  in  all  Paris.  This 
is  so  positively  the  fact,  that  you  frequently  see  the 
sign  "Price  fixed,"  above  the  door  of  the  establish- 
ment, as  an  acknowledgment  of  the  truth ;  and 
where  this  little  notice  makes  its  appearance,  you 
must  expect  to  meet  the  greatest  rogues.  No  such 
hotels  as  the  St.  Nicholas  or  the  Astor  are  to  be 
met  with  in  Paris;  and  for  what  you  pay  $2.50 
there,  here  could  be  had,  if  at  all,  at  about  ten 
dollars  per  day.  You  have  the  opera  in  New  York 
— that  last  reach  of  civilized  enjoyment — as  they 
can  not  have  it  here.  They  have  the  name  alone, 


POLICE    AND    PRACTICAL.  131 

and  on  this  account  a  great  singer  remains  here 
long  enough  to  win  a  name,  and  then  flies  to  London, 
St.  Petersburg,  or  New  York,  for  a  living.  Eachel, 
the  great  tragic  actress,  who  is  to  France  what 
Siddons  was  to  England,  and  Cushman  is  to  us, 
has  sold  her  fairy-like  residence,  and  left  for  St. 
Petersburg,  never  to  return.  The  next  greatest  was 
about  following  her  example,  when  it  is  said  that 
Napoleon  considered  it  a  sufficient  matter  of  import- 
ance to  send  for  the  discontented  actor,  and  remon- 
strate. The  appeal  to  his  patriotism  was  of  no  avail, 
and  nothing  but  an  increase  of  salary  retained  him. 
All  this  sounds  probably  very  sweeping;  and 
yet  I  contend  this  is  not  only  true,  but  the  natural 
result  of  society  organized  as  this.  Where  one  class, 
holding  unlimited  sway,  and  followed  and  aped  by 
all,  looks  upon  such  honorable  pursuits  as  mer- 
chandising and  mechanics  as  dishonorable,  such  pur- 
suits become  of  course  dishonest.  All  this  is  a 
fair  warning  to  me  to  be  careful  of  first  impressions. 
I  said  as  I  thought,  in  a  former  letter,  that  there 
was  more  genuine  democracy  in  the  social  life  here 
than  at  home.  M.,  the  great  democrat,  first  called 
my  attention  to  the  cause  of  the  low  tone  of  morals 
in  the  business  community.  The  persons  comprising 
this — much  the  larger  number — are  not  considered, 
and  do  not  feel  themselves,  respectable.  He  says 


132  BELL     SMITH     ABKOAD. 

this  is  the  source  of  all  the  failures  to  establish  a 
republic,  and  that  Marat  was  right  when  he  proposed 
setting  up  six  hundred  blocks,  and  two  thousand 
executioners,  to  work  night  and  day  until  the  aris- 
tocrats were  swept  off.  Not  that  Marat,  or  the  men 
of  that  time,  had  any  peculiar  hatred  for  the  nobles 
— "they  were  then,  as  now,  a  dull,  helpless  set; 
but  the  Jacobins  sought  to  break  up  idols — the 
things  of  ribbon  and  paint,  stuffed  with  bran,  to 
which  the  people  were  for  ever  making  burnt-offer- 
ings of  their  dearest  rights." 

I  am  becoming  quite  political,  and  talking  very 
glibly  upon  things  I  know  little  of,  and  quite  far 
from  what  I  took  my  pen  to  write  about.  D.,  with 
his  peculiar  notions  and  feelings,  has  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  all  the  democratic  Frenchmen,  refugee 
Hungarians,  and  restless  spirits  permitted  now  to 
remain  in  France.  They  gather  round,  and  I,  much 
against  my  will,  am  forced  to  hear  all  about  the 
political  state  of  Europe,  and  the  probable  results 
of  this  arid  that  move,  all  concurring  in  the  fact, 
that  moves  are  being  made,  and  events  progressing 
to  a  crisis.  I  feel  more  interest  in  Kossuth's  children, 
now  here  at  school,  who  are  sometimes  brought  to 
see  us.  Beautiful  little  innocents,  they  are  genuine 
children,  and  all  unconscious  of  having  the  name 
that  once  made  the  world  thrill,  These  Hungarians 


POLICE    AND    PRACTICAL.  133 

are  well  educated  and  intelligent,  and  bear  their 
reverses  with  much  dignity  and  patience.  Taking 
them  as  specimens  of  the  people,  the  Hungarians  are 
by  far  the  greatest  people  of  Europe. 

Lucy  and  I  take  much  pleasure  in  visiting  the 
market — almost  as  much  as  seeing  the  galleries  of 
paintings  in  the  Louvre  and  Luxembourg.  You 
pass  through  long  aisles,  with  stalls  on  either  side, 
occupied  by  women,  mostly  old,  who  sit  with  feet 
upon  chauffe  pieds,  and  salute  you  with  shrill  cries, 
setting  forth  your  wants,  and  their  ability  to  supply 
them.  You  are  struck  with  the  neatness  and  clean- 
liness of  every  department — vegetables  piled  up  in 
the  most  artistic  manner.  But,  as  I  said  before, 
you  miss  the  abundance  one  is  so  accustomed  to 
at  home — heaps  of  every  thing  rolling  and  tumbling 
about,  silken  corn  and  golden  apples,  sun-colored 
peaches,  and  purple  grapes,  with  huge  strawberries, 
all  poured  carelessly  out,  as  if  good  Dame  Nature 
had  abundance  for  all.  'How  this  contrasts  with 
the  neat  little  piles,  where  every  leaf  is  counted, 
and  every  stem  worth  a  sous — where  the  smallest 
pear  cannot  be  had  for  less  than  three  sous,  good 
apples  for  no  money — where  you  see  "  bonnes"  with 
little  baskets,  which  would  not  serve  a  school  girl 
for  a  pic-nic,  carrying  away  the  provisions  for  a 
whole  family,  and  poor  women  higgling  with  the 


134  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

dealers  over  a  morsel  that  seems  to  you  not  worth 
accepting  as  a  present. 

When  to  this  scarcity  you  add  the  universal  dis- 
honesty, you  may  appreciate  the  troubles  foreigners 
have  to  encounter.  You  take  apartments,  furnished ; 
in  your  careless  Western  way,  make  a  verbal  agree- 
ment; at  the  end  of  the  month  you  find  a  very 
misty  recollection  on  the  part  of  your  landlady 
and  her  prime  minister  the  concierge,  and  tw"ice  as 
much  to  pay  as  you  consented.  You  now  reduce 
all  to  writing,  call  in  every  body  to  witness  the 
solemn  agreement.  You  will  pay  sixty  dollars  per 
month  for  four  little  apartments,  furnished  comforta- 
bly, on  a  court,  and  on  the  third  story  in  a  fashiona- 
ble quarter — this  without  including  lights  and  fires. 
When  you  come  to  pay,  a  host  of  unexpected 
items  are  presented.  You  suppose,  for  instance,  that 
in  the  sixty  dollars  is  included  the  ordinary  use  of 
the  furniture — not  so.  The  concierge  goes  through 
a  careful  investigation,  and  even  the  slightest  evi- 
dence of  wear  has  to  be  paid  for,  at  a  rate  which, 
at  the  end  of  six  months,  makes  almost  the  value 
of  the  furniture.  Dr.  Bob  has  discovered  an  ink 
spot  on  a  writing-table,  which  has  been  paid  for 
six  times  in  less  than  a  year — nearly  twice  the 
value  of  the  article  itself.  You  provide  your  do- 
mestic with  money  to  purchase  provisions,  and  soon 


POLICE    AND     PRACTICAL.  135 

make  the  discovery  of  a  large  per  centage  going 
into  the  pocket  of  your  agent — and  you  request 
him  or  her  to  bring  the  bills  with  the  articles. 
This  is  promptly  complied  with,  until  an  acquaint- 
ance sees  and  inquires  how  it  is  that  you  pay  so 
much  more  than  the  proper  cost.  You  investigate, 
and  discover  that  the  bills  have  been  made  out  to  suit 
your  domestic,  and  by  the  clerk  of  quite  an  extensive 
establishment,  for  the  sake  of  securing  the  patronage. 

Of  all  classes  visiting  Paris,  our  much-abused 
countrymen  are  the  most  abominably  fleeced.  The 
Parisians  consider  them  enormously  rich,  and  call 
them  geese.  We  are  sharp  enough,  Heaven  knows 
— but  we  have  been  accustomed  to  dealing  where 
principle  has  some  existence,  and  honesty  is  the 
true  basis  of  success. 

As  we  were  leaving  the  market-place  a  few  days 
since,  Lucy  priced  a  bouquet;  the  boy  asked  twen- 
ty sous,  and  she  offered  ten,  which  was  refused. 
We  had  walked  quite  a  square,  when  the  dealer 
overtook  us,  running.  With  a  smile  and  a  bow 
that  would  have  been  a  wonder  at  home,  he  begged 
permission  to  present  "the  beautiful  Mademoiselle 
the  -bouquet"  for  the  sum  of  ten  sous.  We  re- 
spectfully declined  the  present,  but  made  the  pur- 
chast — and  in  ten  sous  paid  twice  its  value. 


X. 


WEOTE  my  last  in 
a  positively  ill  spirit, 
and  it  was  a  fairer 
picture  of  my  own 
feeling  than  this  beau- 
tiful city.  I  would 
not  re-write  a  word 
there  put  in  black 
and  white,  but  only 
add,  that  such  evils 
have  their  correspond- 
ing good.  We  do  not 
have  very  honest  deal- 
ing here,  or  kind  treat- 
ment; but  we  have 

cheap  remises  and  grand  old  churches — the  'first, 
affording  a  striking  contrast  to  our  cities,  are  really 
regulated.  You  have  but  to  note  the  moment  of 
departure,  and  for  forty  cents  per  hour — no  more 


THE    OLD    MASTEKS.  137 

or  less — you  ride  much  or  little,  in  a  carriage  not 
unworthy  a  republican.  The  second  appears  to  me 
the  grand  old  remains  of  a  former  world  and  a  dif- 
ferent race.  That  the  present  self-satisfied,  opinion- 
ated triflers  could  have  been  the  children  of  simple 
faith,  who  reared  these  solemn  temples,  is  some- 
thing difficult  of  belief.  One  leaves  the  horrid 
"Morgue,"  to  be  filled  with  awe  and  rapture  at 
"Notre  Dame,"  each  looking  at  the  other — both 
types  of  the  different  races  and  different  times — 
the  one,  child-like  in  the  docility  which  could  re- 
ceive, without  a  murmur,  the  ills  of  this  world  as 
but  so  much  preparation  for  one  to  come: — bigoted, 
perhaps — perhaps  blind,  yet  obedient  and  trusting; 
the  other,  willful,  desperate,  and  unbelieving.  The 
one  has  given  us  "  Notre  Dame,"  the  other  presents 
the  "Morgue."  D.  suggests  that  the  first  preferred 
killing  others,  as  in  the  St.  Bartholomew  massacre 
— the  last  kills  himself.  Well,  may  be  so;  yet 
there  is  a  wide  difference. 

I  began  saying  that  with  every  evil  comes  some 
good;  and,  if  we  are  without  honorable  men  and 
women  as  merchants,  we  have  the  galleries  of  the 
Louvre  and  Luxembourg.  It  is  a  great  privilege 
to  be  within  ten  minutes  of  either.  By  referring  to 
"Galignani,"  you  will  see  that  the  gallery  called 
that  of  the  Old  Masters  is  eighteen  hundred  feet 


138  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD,. 

in  length,  and  along  each  side  are  hung  the  wealth 
of  Peru;  and  what,  if  they  were  destroyed  to-mor- 
row, all  the  gold  and  genius  of  the  world  could 
not  restore.  The  greater  part,  I  confess,  are  for 
artists  alone;  but  efforts  are  there,  crowning  works 
of  immortal  genius,  that  can  not  fail  to  delight  and 
elevate.  I  go  every  sunny  day  and  sit  for  hours 
entranced  before  Murillo's  great  picture.  With  the 
instinct  of  true  genius,  the  artist  brought,  without 
loss  of  dignity,  his  great  subject  within  the  circle 
of  blessed  humanity.  The  child  Jesus  and  the  Holy 
Virgin  are  there — and  there,  too,  are  the  proud, 
happy,  beautiful,  human  mother,  and  the  innocent, 
playful  babe.  As  our  old  master  used  to  tell  us  so 
eloquently,  that  "Christ,  like  Moses,  touched  the 
rock  from  whose  heart  leaped  out  the  waters  of 
salvation — not  for  the  rich  and  well-born — not  for 
the  learned  and  powerful — but  to  run  down  spark- 
ling in  lowly  places,  where  they  who  are  oppress- 
ed and  weary  with  burdens,  may  stoop,  drink,  and 
go  away  refreshed."  With  such  feelings  the  artist 
has  dealt  with  his  subject — his  holy  mother  and 
child  are  of  us,  and  no  mother  who  has  felt  the 
broad  little  hand  upon  her  neck,  can  look  on  this 
otherwise  than  through  tears. 

Will  we  ever  have   such   exhibitions  of  art  and 
evidences  of  refinement  in  the  United  States?     Are 


THE    OLD    MASTERS.  loO 

these  galleries  really  associates  of  weakness  and  cor- 
ruption, and  may  not  a  free  land  and  a  strong  peo- 
ple possess  them?  I  believe  we  may — and  even 
anticipate  fondly  the  day  when,  in  Washington  city, 
we  may  look  down  long  vistas  of  genius,  record- 
ing imperishably  the  greatness  of  our  land.  *Art, 
with  us,  has  to  be  cultivated,  and  it  belongs  to  a 
much-neglected  class  to  undertake  our  education. 
Experience  has  shown,  from  'first  to  last,  that  efforts 
on  the  part  of  the  Government  are  worse  than 
none.  But  artists  themselves  should  take  the  mat- 
ter in  keeping.  The  public  buildings  at  the  capital 
are  worthy  our  people;  let  it  be  the  earnest  effort 
of  every  artist  to  paint  one  or  more  pictures  worthy 
of  the  place,  and  present  them  to  the  Government, 
until  a  taste  for  the  art  shall  be .  followed  by  a 
knowledge  and  true  appreciation.  That  the  Presi- 
dent's house,  and  the  various  Government  buildings, 
with  all  the  evidences  of  taste  and  liberal  expendi- 
ture otherwise,  are  without  pictures,  is  a  shame.  I 
know  that  to  call  upon  artists  to  correct  this,  is 
to  throw  a  huge  task  upon  those  already  struggling 
sadly,  and,  in  many  instances,  almost  hopelessly,  in 
poverty  and  neglect ;  but  this  casting  of  bread  upon 
the  waters  would,  ere  many  days,  repay  well.  A 
few  such  pictures  as  Leutz's  "Washington  Cross- 
ing the  Delaware,"  placed  before  the  Eepresentatives 


140  BELL    SMITH    ABKOAD. 

of  the  people,  would  in  themselves  produce  a  revo- 
lution. One  eminent  artist,  one  we  are  already 
proud  to  own,  has  promised  an  historical  picture, 
which  I  think  our  Government  will  be  rich  in 
possessing. 

I  nave  no  intention,  my  dear  friend,  of  attempt- 
ing to  put  on  paper  either  pictures  or  churches, 
or  the  feelings  with  which  they  animate  me.  I 
know  too  well  the  failure  eminent  authors  have  ac- 
complished in  attempting  this,  to  strand  my  little 
bark  on  such  a  rock.  I  only  say,  much  as  I  have 
to  assure  you  that  I  see,  appreciate,  and  love,  all 
these  rich  stores  opened  before  me,  I  am  sorry 
in  saying  that  I  am  alone  in  this.  D.,  although 
far  more  cultivated  than  I,  has  no  true  apprecia- 
tion of  art.  He  calls  sculpture  stone-cutting,  and 
considers  painting  merely  a  decorative  art,  some- 
thing above  gilding,  but  infinitely  below  architect- 
ure. He  styles  the  old  masters  "old  humbugs," 
and  says  it  is  beneath  the  dignity  of  a  people  to 
be  enthused  over  such  trifles.  Above  all,  has  he 
a  contempt  for  what  he  calls  cant  of  criticism — the 
dilettanteism  which  hangs  its  raptures  on  a  great 
name,  and  goes  wild  over  paintings  which  have 
long  since  faded  from  ordinary  observation.  It  is 
to  be  presumed  the  artist  did  not  set  before  the 
world  a  work  requiring  the  best  exercise  of  the 


THE    OLD    MASTERS.  141 

finest  eyes  to  see  at  all ;  and  we  are  to  presume 
tliat  the  unsparing  hand  of  Time  has  gradually 
withdrawn  the  effort  from  -our  gaze,  leading  cant 
to  worship  the  frame.  But  this  contempt  for  the 
false  in  criticism  carries  him  so  far  away,  that  he 
will  not  admire  what  in  reality  is  beautiful.  I 
know  there  are  paintings  in  •  the  Louvre,  by  im- 
mortal names,  and  valued  at  enormous  sums,  which 
require  the  brightest  sunshine  and  the  best  eyes 
to  trace  out  forms  which  have  long  since  followed 
their  great  creator  into  the  regions  of  the  dead. 

A  young  artist,  here  pursuing  his  studies — a  true 
child  of  genius  and  friend  of  ours — has  a  sad  time 
with  D.  He  cannot  realize  that  such  opinions  are 
expressed  in  earnest,  or  that  they  are  not  born  in 
ignorance.  He  vibrates  between  the  two,  sometimes 
getting  exceedingly  angry  at  what  he  takes  for 
badinage,  and  at  other  periods  ascribing  the  ex- 
pressions to  ignorance,  and  kindly  undertakes  to 
educate  and  enlighten.  I  shall  never  forget  their 
first  visit  to  the  Gallery  of  the  Louvre.  I  watched 
them  with  much  anxiety  and  considerable  amuse- 
ment. D.  was  pulled  by  our  wild  friend  before  a 
picture,  and,  to  see  it,  pushed  like  a  child  into 
the  proper  position. 

"  There,  now,  what  say  you  to  that  ?  Gilding,  ia 
it?  Call  that  gilding  if  you  dare." 


142  BELL    SMITH    ABKOA1). 

"  Well,  if  it  is  not  gilding,  what  is  it  ? — what  ia 
your  artist  aiming  at? — what  do  you  call  it?" 

"Call  it?— why,  it  calls  itself.  That  is  TitianV 
great  picture,  if  not  his  greatest.  That  is  the  En- 
tombment!" 

"  Indeed !     Well,  what  of  it  ?" 

"  What  of  it ! — wny  it 's  immortal ;  it  is  perfection ; 
art  can  no  further  go.  True  artists  worship  it." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ;  but  if  art  can  no  further 
go,  art  should  never  have  started." 

"  Eh !  what — how  now  ?  Show  me  a  defect,  if 
you  can  ?" 

"  Well,  the  body  placed  in  that  way  between  the 
three  men  is  either  held  up  miraculously,  or  your 
artist  knew  very  little  of  the  weight  of  flesh  and 
blood  ;  as  for  the  color — " 

But  he  was  interrupted  by  the  furious  artist,  who 
began  gyrating  about  the  room,  shaking  his  hands, 
and  vociferating  too  violently  to  speak  plainly.  He 
had  a  way,  when  excited,  of  pirouetting  round  in 
a  sort  of  dance,  which  was  to  me  irresistibly  funny. 

"  I  say  they  can  hold  him — any  body  can  see  that 
— certainly  they  can — any  that — that  knows  any  thing 
— knows  that." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"   responded  D.,   seriously ; 

j. 

"in  matters  of  paint  and  pallet  you  are  quite  able 
to  speak;  but  at  a  dead  lift,  my  dear  fellow,  I  am 


THE    OLD    MASTERb.  143 

at  home.  And  I  say,  without  hesitation,  such  aii 
attempt  to  lift  as  that  would  kill  Moses." 

"  Nonsense  !  stuff  I  you  don't  know  any  thing  about 
it.  Now,  I  '11  show  you.  we  three  can  hold  you  up 
in  the  same  position,  and  with  all  ease." 

"  Thank  you,"  responded  D  ,  dryly ;  "  I  don't 
care  to  be  made  a  martyr  oft" 

But  ^Doctor  Bob,  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye, 
proposed  to  make  a  lay  figure  of  the  artist,  and 
seizing  him,  the  three  began  to  stagger  over  the 
polished  floor,  pulling  our  friend  the  artist  about 
until  they  all  nearly  fell  down,  and  one  of  the 
guards  on  duty  interfered.  Our  enthusiastic  instructor 
was  not  to  be  discouraged  in  this  way ;  he  pulled 
D.  from  old  master  to  old  master,  all  the  time  pro- 
testing and  lecturing.  He  paused  before  one,  rep- 
resenting an  angel  flying  from  a  group  of  astonished 
people. 

"  Now,  look  at  that !  There  is  beauty ;  see  the 
coloring,  the  expression,  the  distance,  the  handling, 
the  action — note  the  action  1" 

"  Certainly  I  do — very  much  action.  I  should 
say  that  fellow  with  wings  was  making  at  least 
sixty  miles  an  hour;  he  ought,  however,  to  be 
attached  to  a  first-class  locomotive." 

L.  went  off  again  into  his  queer  dance,  and  the 
violent  gesticulation  continued,  with  various  ex- 


144  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

pressions  of  outraged  feelings  and  contempt,  until 
they  stopped  before  a  marine  view,  certainly  a  very 
beautiful  thing. 

"  If  you  condemn  this,  I  am  done.  Now,  only  be 
candid,  stand  here — there 's  the  ocean  for  you." 

"It  is — well,  all  I  have  to  say  then  is,  if  that  is 
a  fair  representation  of  the  sea,  Christ  walking  on 
it  was  no  miracle;  it  is  hard  as  bricks." 

Outrage  could  go  no  further;  our  friend  fairly 
boiled ;  the  pirouette  was  twice  as  violent,  and  con- 
tinued until  he  ran  backwards  against  a  little  man, 
on  a  very  high  stool,  busy  copying  a  Venus. 

While  the  discussion  was  going  on,  I  had  ob- 
served this  little  copyist.  He  was  not  higher  than 
my  shoulder ;  he  wore  a  hump  back,  and  looked 
at  the  world  through  spectacles.  His  face  was 
wrinkled,  partly  by  age,  and  much  by  a  soured 
nature,  as  if  disgusted  with  the  world ;  and,  as  his 
little  face  peered  out,  surrounded  as  it  was  by  gray, 
bushy  hair  and  whiskers,  he  resembled  an  exag- 
gerated weasel,  scratching  for  eggs.  Whatever  might 
be  his  contempt  for  things  in  general,  he  had  a 
high  regard  for  his  work;  for,  when  our  frantic 
cicerone  fell  against  the  stool,  the  little  man  might 
have  saved  himself,  but  he  sought  to  save  his 
picture.  The  result  was,  that  the  picture  fell,  and 
the  petit  gentleman  tumbled  sprawling  upon  it — 


THE     OLD    MASTERS.  145 

punching  a  hole  in  Venus'  head,  and  altogether 
making  sad  work  of  the  affair.  He  regained  his 
feet,  with  face  and  clothes  presenting  what  D.  called 
a  "  proof-sheet,"  and  scolded  terribly — the  word 
"beast"  being  the  most  distinct  and  frequent.  Our 
friend  retorted.  I  could  only  hear  the  phrase 
"  miserable  daub,"  when  the  capsized  ran  at  him, 
and  we  should  have  had  a  battle  royal,  but  for 
the  prompt  interference  of  by-standers  and  guards. 
While  I  write,  the  booming  cannon  announces  to 
Paris  the  elevation  of  a  bronze  statue  to  the  memory 
of  Marshal  Ney,  upon  the  spot  where  he  was  exe- 
cuted. Poor  man !  he  little  dreamed,  when  looking 
at  the  cold  gray  light  of  a  drizzling  morning  for 
the  last  time  on  earth,  of  the  use  to  which  his 
death  would  be  put.  It,  like  every  thing  else  here, 
is  a  political  move ;  and,  while  the  Bourbons  and 
Orleanists  are  rejoicing  over  their  union,  the  Bona- 
partes,  at  the  spot  where  fell  the  blood  of  Ney, 
thunder  their  defiance. 

7 


XI. 


Caolv. 

E  have  been 
invited  to  the 
palace.  We 
have  been  in- 
vited to  all 
.the  palaces.  I 

ought  to  give  these  facts  in 
separate  letters,  so  that  you 
would  have  space  to  breathe, 
and  time  tc  recover  from  the 
astonishment.  I  know  we  do 
not  deserve  this — it  is  too 
good  for  us — but  when  honors  are  thrust  on  one, 
it  is  not  prudent  to  decline  them,  for  they  may 
never  arrive  again.  Now,  I  do  not  propose  to  tax 
your  credulity  too  far,  by  leaving  you  under  the 
impression  that  the  "  Emperor "  has  found  us  out, 
and  invited  us  to  come  and  pass  a  little  time  with 
his  family,  in  a  social,  unostentatious  way.  By  no 


THE    ARCHBISHOP'S    COOK.  147 

manner  of  means;  the  truth  is,  I  have  seen  his 
Majesty  but  once,  and  then  a  mere  glimpse — we 
are  not  on  visiting  terms,  as  we  say  at  home — 
and,  instead  of  being  invited,  in  an  impressive 
manner,  to  drop  in  and  stay  a  few  days,  one  day,  on 
attempting  to  enter  the  Tuileries,  merely  to  look  at 
the  upholstery,  we  were  informed  by  a  tall  gentle- 
man in  white  stockings,  embracing  some  false  calves, 
that  it  was  quite  impossible,  as  the  Emperor  and 
family  were  then  its  occupants.  It  was  not  much 
of  a  disappointment,  for  you  are  well  aware  I  have 
no  great  taste  for  upholstery ;  but,  as  the  royal 
carriage  drove  to  the  entrance,  I  insisted  upon  our 
party  remaining  to  see  France  on  an  airing.  We 
did  not  have  a  pleasant  time  while  waiting,  for  we 
withdrew  to  the  railing,  where  a  crowd  of  idlers 
were  gathered,  and  peered  through  the  bars.  After 
a  little  while,  Napoleon,  accompanied  by  the  Em- 
press, made  his  appearance. 

He  is  not  the  brightest  specimen  of  a  young 
man,  appearing  decidedly  heavy,  and  I  suspect  was 
rather  disgusted  with  our  conduct— we  did  not 
shout  much.  An  Englishman  near  me  gave  some 
hearty  vivas,  very  badly  pronounced;  indeed,  it  is 
doubtful  whether  the  Government  knew,  precisely, 
what  sentiments  John  Bull  was  uttering.  The  tall 
man  in  white  stockings,  assisted  by  half  a  dozen 


148  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

others,  expressed  a  strong  and  loud  wish  for  the 
long  life  of  the  Empire.  I  presume,  in  a  decline 
^f  the  Empire,  his  false  calves  and  white  stockings 
tvould  go  down,  as  all  stand  upon  the  same  legs 
— I  mean  no  pun.  The  Empress  is  not  so  lovely 
as  I  expected  to  see  this  descendant  of  Guzman 
the  Valiant,  but  graceful,  and  dressed  in  a  subdued, 
pleasant  style.  They  dashed  away,  surrounded  with 
guards;  and  that  was  my  first  and  last  sight  of 
the  royal  family. 

Of  course,  such  a  slight  acquaintance  promises 
little  in  the  way  of  invitations ;  but  we  have  a 
friend  at  court — a  friend  official — one  of  the  house- 
hold, who  invites  us  to  come  at  all  hours,  and  look 
about  at  our  leisure — gaze  at  the  beautiful  pictures 
and  statues,  the  golden  hangings  and  the  silvery 
satins,  as  if  they  were  our  own.  Now,  if  I  had 
little  regard  for  the  truth,  I  would  leave  you  under 
the  impression  that  this  friend  was  a  prime  min- 
ister, or  a  lord  cardinal,  or  at  least  an  aide-de-camp 
— a  favorite  at  court,  with  pale,  delicate  face,  youth- 
ful grace  of  figure,  raven  curls,  and  dark  mous- 
tache. But  I  can  not;  however  painful  to  o\vn,  our 
friend  at  court  is  the  cook — one  of  the  royal  cooks 
— and  Jean  Baptiste  is  a  royal  cook  in  every  sense 
of  the  word. 

Now,  I  know  that  this   imprudent  revelation  will 


THE    ARCHBISHOP'S    COOK.  149 

startle  some  aristocratic  friends;  and,  when  I  re- 
turn, they  will  not  call  upon  me — perhaps  cut  me 
dead.  Now,  I  protest  that,  as  living,  plain  repub- 
licans, we  should  not  set  such  store  upon  position 
— and  not  regard  the  calling,  so  that  it  be  honest. 
But  if  we  do  consider  titles,  I  am  not  so  sure  that 
there  wras  much  of  a  descent  in  our  making  the 
acquaintance  of  a  royal  cook.  I  suspect  that  by 
the  aristocracy  of  Europe,  who  settle  all  such 
things,  a  royal  (5bok,  a  head  bottle-washer  to  the 
Emperor,  would  be  considered  as  outranking  a  re- 
publican ex-judge,  or  colonel,  or  general,  or  any 
other  of  the  vast  army  of  the  titled  in  our  Union. 
The  royal  cook  has  the  advantage  of  at  least  fol- 
lowing a  useful  pursuit,  and  basing  his  title  on 
something — which  is  more  than  I  can  say  for  some 
of  my  American  friends  when  here,  who  run  after 
and  stoop  before  certain  gentry — such,  for  instance, 

as   "the    Eight    Honorable    Lord  ,  of  Castle 

,  High  Keeper  of  the  Robes,  and  Most  High 

Custodian  of  the  Bootjack  to  her  Majesty  Queen 
Victoria,  Sovereign,"  &c.,  which  office  is  something 
of  a  sinecure.  "  Oh,  simple  republicans !"  as  Carlyle 
says,  "ye  who  condemn  the  swallow-tail,  and  make 
war  on  the  false  calves  of  the  court  costume,  bow 
not  down  before  the  high  Custodian  of  the  Boot- 
jack!" But  I  add,  let  me  introduce  you  to  good, 


150 


BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 


fat,  jolly,  Jean  Baptiste,  the  royal  cook,  who  asks 
no  lowly  homage,  but  is  quite  condescending  and 
kind  to  us. 


Our  acquaintance  with  Monsieur  the  Cook  came, 
like  many  other  good  things  in  this  world,  quite 
unexpectedly,  and  in  this  manner.  His  holiness, 

the    good   Archbishop    of   had    visited    Paris 

for  medical  advice,  as  th£  old  gentleman,  approach- 
ing eighty  years  of  age,  found  it  difficult  to  carry 
any  disorders  whatever  with  that  many  winters — 
from  one  to  thirty  we  should  count  by  summers; 


THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  COOK.  151 

from  that  until  the  closing  scene,  by  winters.  He, 
with  his  family,  consisting  of  a  sister,  almost  as  old, 
and  much  thinner  than  his  excellency,  and  a  young 
girl,  a  relative,  ward,  and  exceedingly  beautiful, 
with  their  domestics,  occupied  the  grand  apart- 
ments of  maison,  while  we  had  the  petit  apartments 
on  the  same  floor.  The  difference,  in  way  of 
grandeur,  was  decidedly  in  favor  of  the  grand 
apartments ;  the  comfort  leaned  towards  the  petit.  I 
say  this'  in  extenuation — for,  although  we  had  a 
beautiful  view,  from  one  set  of  our  saloon  win- 
dows, of  the  Queen  of  Sweden's  gardens,  another  set 
looked  into  the  Archbishop's  kitchen;  but  they 
were  very  comfortable,  nevertheless.  Lying  upon 
the  sofa  two-thirds  of  my  time,  with  my  back  to 
the  lighter  windows,  for  the  sake  of  the  French 
romances  I  was  reading,  every  time  I  paused  to 
reflect  upon  the  acts  of  Dumas'  giant-killers,  or 
Hugo's  poetics,  my  eyes  would  naturally  fall  into 
the  kitchen  of  his  excellency  the  Archbishop, 
where  that  jolly,  royal  cook  was  pursuing  his  avo- 
cations. I  suppose  my  little,  pale  face,  telling  of 
evident  illness,  smote  upon  the  tender  heart  of 
Monsieur  the  Cook,  for  he  inquired  anxiously  of 
Nanuette,  my  maid,  as  to  my  health ;  and  from 
this  he,  with  many  apologies,  went  so  far  as  to 
prepare  little  delicacies,  which  he  assured  Nannette 


Io  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

would  be  of  immense  benefit  to  madame's  health. 
The  Archbishop's  ward,  who  used  to  be  in  the 
kitchen  one-half  her  time,  chatting  with  Jean,  be- 
came intensely  interested,  and  the  delicacies  came 
in  her  name.  I  gave  Jean  full  credit  for  all,  how- 
ever, as  he  was  never  so  happy  as  when  doing  a 
good-natured  action. 

I  picture  charity  now,  not  a  slender  maiden 
wrapped  in  a  sheet  and  set  on  a  monument,  but 
as  a  fat,  merry  cook,  under  a  paper  cap,  with  a 
multitudinous  white  apron,  that  looks  as  if  its  crea- 
tion -  had  affected  the  price  of  things ;  but,  above 
all,  do  I  see  as  charity  the  full  red  cheeks,  and 
merry  eyes  which  seemed  to  be  straining  themselves 
to  look  over  the  round  cheeks,  and  see  what  the 
mouth  was  about ;  and  if  it  saw  the  fun  of  the 
thing  much  as  they  did;  and  then  they  reflected 
themselves  in  the  nose — the  jolly,  red  nose.  Jean 
never  worked,  it  was  play,  mere  play  ;  be  the 
kitchen  ever  so  full,  and  a  famous  dinner  ever 
so  near,  Jean  would  find  time  to  lean  out  of  the 
window,  and  chat  with  the  beggar  on  wooden  legs, 
and  ask  him  if  he  had  been  at  the  grand  ball — 
and  whether  he  preferred  the  schottisch  to  the 
polka,  and  laugh  as  he  ended  with  giving  a  boun- 
tiful quantity  of  broken  victuals. 

Jean  was  exceedingly  fond   of  his  jest  with  the 


THE    ARCHBISHOP'S    OOOK.  153 

beggars,  but  I  noticed  that  he  always  seasoned  it 
with  good  deeds.  Leaning  out  of  the  window  to 
some  crazy  hand-organ,  he  would  beg  to  know  how 
it  was  possible  the  grand  opera  could  flourish,  de- 
prived of  thaj  instrument,  and  beg  the  performer 
to  accept  a  few  sous,  in  testimony  of  his  individual 
admiration.  In  response  to  the  harsh  song  of  some 
crone,  he  would  seriously  ask  if  she  thought  St. 
Peter  had  an  ear  for  music,  and  how  it  came  to 
pass  that  he  had  not  sent  for  her  long  since — at 
the  same  time  filling  her  basket  with  remnants, 
adding  advice  to  the  effect  that  she  must  not  feed 
her  boarders  too  high,  as  times  were  really  hard, 
and^  his  master  was  a  good  deal  mixed  at  the  Bourse. 
His  jests  were  sometimes  a  little  biting,  but  the 
poor  creatures  laughed  the  merriest,  and  always 
left  content. 

Between  my  maid  and  Jean  grew  up  a  very 
gossiping  intimacy.  I  thought,  indeed,  that  Jean's 
tender  heart  had  been  rather  roasted  by  Nannette's 
brilliant  eyes.  But  Nannctte  never  favored  me 
with  much  of  her  own  affairs,  while  engaged  in 
the  duties  of  my  toilette,  being  so  much  occupied 
with  those  of  other  people.  She  knew  quite  all 
about  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  house ; 
but  more  especially  was  she  acquainted  with  affairs 
in  the  Archbishop's  family.  She  said  the  good 

7* 


154  BELL    SMITH    ABP-OAD. 

prelate  had  much  trouble  with  his  beautiful  ward ; 
that  she  had  been  sought  for  and  was  deeply  in 
love  with  an  English  nobleman ;  but  that  gentleman 
being  a  Protestant,  of  course  he  could  not  be  coun- 
tenanced ;  that  the  young  lady  was  very  unhappy, 
as  one  could  see,  and  in  danger  of  a  decline,  as 
every  body  knew ;  and,  for  her  (Nannette's)  part, 
she  thought  religion  was  to  die  by,  and  not  to 
marry  by ;  and  Jean  thought  it  was  all  more  pious 
than  wise,  and  that  he  (Jean)  believed  in  love- 
matches  ;  that  love  was  to  matrimony  the  apples  to 
the  pie,  and  other  sage  reflections,  showing  that  he 
sided  with  Young  England.  My  sympathies  were 
not  much  awakened,  as  I  thought  the  young  lady 
seemed  in  good  health  and  very  passable  spirits. 
But  then  the  heart  will  break,  you  know,  yet 
brokenly  live  on. 

"We  were  called  upon  about  this  time,  we  idlers 
who  had  eyes  for  beggars  in  the  court,  to  notice 
a  blind  mendicant  of  immense  age,  who  was  led 
into  the  court,  where  he  played  execrably  upon 
a  guitar,  and  yet  sang  with  a  full,  rich  voice,  that 
a  youth  of  twenty  might  have  been  proud  to  own. 
We  noticed  that  the  love-crossed  damsel  about  this 
time  became  very  benevolent,  and  was  exceedingly 
fond  of  calling  this  old  man  to  the  foot  of  the 
grand  escalier,  and  giving  him  some  sous.  One 


THE    ARCHBISHOP'S    COOK.  155 

afternoon  she  begged  the  aged  guardian  of  an  aunt 
to  permit  the  old  beggar  to  enter  their  salon  and 
play  for  them.  The  Archbishop  being  out  riding 
at  that  time,  the  watchful  relative  reluctantly  con- 
sented, protesting  she  never  heard  such  vile  music; 
what  could  her  niece  want  with  such?  And  when 
the  old  man,  trembling  in  every  limb,  tottered  into 
the  room,  leaning  upon  his  staff,  and  began  his 
lament  more  discordant  than  ever,  the  poor  lady, 
who  had  a  reasonable  ear  for  music,  and  doted  on  the 
opera,  left  the  room,  saying  her  niece  was  certainly 
crazy.  The  companion  of  the  beggaTj  who  was  the 
raggedest  individual,  with  close-cut  hair,  round  bullet 
head,  very  erect,  and  apparently  wide  awake,  mod- 
estly remained  outside  of  the  door.  When  the 
aunt,  no  longer  hearing  the  music,  abruptly  re- 
turned, she  was  thunder-struck  at  seeing  her  niece 
sobbing  in  the  arms  of  the  mendicant. 

There  was  quite  a  disturbance  in  the  grand  apart- 
ments at  this  moment.  The  niece  fainted ;  the  aunt 
screamed ;  the  tall  footman  ran  in ;  the  concierge 
came  to  the  rescue ;  Jean  and  his  assistants  were 
near ;  but  all,  in  attempting  to  throw  out  the  aged 
blind  beggar,  caught  a  tartar.  That  individual 
seemed  suddenly  to  regain  his  youth  and  strength ; 
for  he  knocked  the  servants  right  and  left,  and  as 
suddenly  was  miraculously  restored  to  sight ;  for 


156  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

while  his  assistant  covered  his  retreat,  he  made 
his  way  out  with  great  nimbleness  and  ease.  It 
was  very  natural  that  he  should  leave  his  gray 
hairs  behind,  under  the  circumstances  ;  and  so  he 
did,  in  the  shape  of  a  very  fine  specimen  of  a 
Parisian  wig.  Jean  remarked,  solemnly,  as  he  bathed 
the  tall  footman's  head  and  nose,  that,  for  French 
beggars,  the  rascals  had  a  remarkable  knowledge 
of  English  boxing. 

When  one  remembers  the  care  with  which  young 
ladies  are  guarded  in  France,  and  adds  to  such 
custom  the  fact  that,  in  this  instance,  the  young 
girl  had  evinced  a  disposition  to  cross  her  guardian's 
wishes,  the  wonder  will  cease  at  events  which  seem 
to  recall  the  days  of  romance.  Jean  seemed  delighted 
with  the  adventure,  and  passed  much  time  in  relating 
it,  with  numerous  whimsical  additions  and  comments, 
to  Nannette.  But  the  strange  adventure  ceased  in 
time  to  be  so  strange.  The  young  beauty  was 
watched  with  increased  care.  She  was  now  scarcely 
ever  from  under  the  eye  of  her  aunt — the  sharp 
and  thin  duenna.  \ 

His  Reverence,  returning  to  something  like  health, 
received  much  company,  and  the  entertainments 
were  so  numerous,  that  Jean  was  at  last  fairly  em- 
ployed. He  now  had  scarcely  a  word  to  throw  at 
a  beggar,  and,  at  length,  was  forced  to  bring  in  an 


THE    ARCHBISHOP'S    COOK.  If)? 

assistant.  He  had  one  before — a  dull,  placid  youth, 
who  seemed  everlastingly  to  be  walking  in  his  sleep, 
and  deeply  ruminating  upon  pie-crust;  and  to  such 
force  Jean  added  his  nephew.  Quite  a  contrast, 
this  one,  to  the  former !  He  was  eminently  hand- 
some, gay,  and  active,  with  a  restless  expression  of 
fun  in  his  large,  sparkling  eyes,  which  told  at  once 
his  near  kin  to  Jean.  But  what  this  youth  made 
up  in  beauty,  he  lost  in  usefulness.  So  vexatious 
an  assistant  never  before  entered  a  kitchen.  He 
spoiled  every  thing  he  touched,  and  broke  every 
thing  he  carried.  More  especially  was  the  thin 
aunt  worried.  She  had  a  favorite  soup,  upon  which, 
indeed,  she  lived,  being  entirely  divested  of  native 
masticators,  by  which  to  use  more  solid  food ;  an4 
it  seemed  as  if  this  pottage  was  never  again  to 
bless  her  lips.  Sometimes  it  was  burned,  at  others 
uncooked,  generally  unpalatable ;  and,  on  one  oc- 
casion, she  was  nearly  poisoned  by  an  improvement 
patented  by  the  youth  himself.  Jean  scolded,  and 
threatened  very  violently,  and  the  nephew  looked 
very  demure,  until  his  uncle's  back  was  turned,  and 
then  he  would  smile. 

Patience  came  to  its  limits  at  last.  At  a  grand 
dinner-party,  the  good  Archbishop  had  spoken  of 
and  promised  his  guests  a  great  dish,  which  he  had 
brought  the  recipe  of  from  South  America.  It  was, 


158  BELL     SMITH    ABROAD. 

indeed,  a  wonderful  preparation,  but,  unfortunately, 
as  the  vile  nephew  carried  it,  he  awkwardly  turned 
the  contents  of  the  salt  and  pepper  box  into  the 
tureen.  Jean  had  not  noticed  the  accident,  and  the 
nephew  was  frightened  too  much  to  mention  it,  and 
the  result  was  extremely  ludicrous.  The  Arch- 
bishop, on  account  of  ill  health,  could  not  partake, 
and  the  aunt  never  tasted  such  compounds;  so  po- 
-  liteness  was  left  to  bear  it,  as  best  it  might.  Cer- 
tainly it  never  was  pushed  to  a  further  extreme. 
Urged  to  partake,  they  swallowred  with  various  ex- 
pressions forced  into  their  faces.  One  fleshy  brother, 
who  had  promised  himself  a  rare  feast,  had  tears 
course  down  his  round  cheeks,  while  a  celebrated 
diner-out  waa  heard  to  remark  that  he  thought  the 
degeneration  of  the  Spaniards  in  South  America 
might  be  traced  to  their  vitiated  tastes.  This  settled 
the  nephew's  fate ;  he  was  ordered,  even  by  Jean, 
harshly,  to  leave  the  kitchen. 

The  delinquent  assistant  found  a  warm  advocate 
in  the  niece,  and,  at  her  urgent  solicitation,  Jean 
was  inclined  to  retain  the  scamp  a  few  days  longer 
on  trial.  It  is  noticeable,  that  when  youthful  love 
is  not  only  broken  in  its  current,  but  fairly  dammed, 
choked  up,  that  it  will  find  an  outlet  in  some  un- 
expected direction.  In  this  manner  have  high-born 
maidens  been  induced,  in  moments  of  reckless  des- 


THE    ARCHBISHOP'S    COOK.  159 

peration,  to  wed  their  coachmen,  having  been  foiled 
in  the  wild  attempt  of  espousing  pages.  Now,  a 
close  observer  could  see  that  my  little  heroine  was 
desperate,  and  could  further  see  that  she  had  quite 
a  regard  for  this  hopeful  of  a  cook.  In  which  last, 
I  maintain,  she  exhibited  a  method  in  her  madness, 
for  I  hold  that,  in  these  circumstances,  the  cook 
is  to  be  preferred  to  the  coachman.  What  is  a 
coachman  without  the  coach,  the  horses,  the  footman, 
the  livery  ? — in  fact,  an  establishment  too  expensive 
for  cottage-born  love  to  keep  up.  But  your  cook 
is  a  treasure  in  himself.  He  can  convert  the  family 
jewels  into  substantiate — into  pleasant,  soul-sustain- 
ing delicacies,  at  all  hours.  Therefore,  I  say  to  all 
heroines  deliberating  through  their  first  volume  of 
lips-romance,  when  in  wild  desperation,  and  not 
caring,  under  the  hard  treatment  of  flinty  parents, 
for  consequences — ^abjure  coachy,  and  fly  to  the 
cook ! 

Now,  I  feel  much  inclined  to  beat  my  few  lately- 
circulating  gold  facts  into  sheets,  and  spread  them 
over  two  volumes.  But  I  resist  the  temptation.  I 
will  be  a  true  historian — and,  already  beyond  the 
limits  of  a  letter,  hasten  to  the  last  morsel  of  a 
"  nugget." 

One  bright  morning,  Jean  missed  his  nephew ;  no 
loss.     But  at  the  same  time  his  Reverence  the 


100  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

Archbishop  missed  his  niece.  They  searched  far 
and  wide — the  police  were  excited;  and  circles — • 
fashionable,  diplomatic,  and  religious — all  the  circles 
ever  heard  of  in  Paris — were  deeply  agitated.  After 
many  days  came  a  letter,  under  huge  seal,  to  his 
Reverence;  and,  on  breaking  this  huge  seal,  he 

found  it  came  from  the  Rfc.  Hon.    of ,  who 

therein  apologized  for  stealing  his  Reverence's  ward, 
and  spoiling  his  dinner. 

Of  course,  Jean  lost  his  place;  but,  from  some 
mysterious  influence,  received  a  better  one  in  the 
Imperial  household,  where  he  now  is.  And,  meeting 
Nannette  one  day,  he  inquired  kindly  after  us,  and 
said  that  at  any  time  we  wished  to  look  at  the 
palaces,  to  send  him  word,  and  we  should  see  them 
at  our  leisure.  And  of  this  I  sat  out  to  write,  and 
not  of  some  gossip  that  must  have  reached,  long  ere 
ihis,  your  readers,  through  all  the  papers  in  the 
Union. 


XII. 


t  f  cor  of  farts* 


N  no  place  is  pov- 
erty more  strictly 
regulated,  or  in  it- 
self better  behaved, 
than  in  Paris.  The 
same  trait  which 
makes  it  cleanly 
causes  it  to  shrink 
from  public  gaze, 
and,  ashamed  of  its 
great  sin,  it  hides  in  cellars,  or  starves  in  garrets, 
and  never  can  be  looked  on  with  impunity,  until 
the  fearful  morgue  has  opened  its  marble  jaws  to 
expose  a  specimen,  dead  from  deprivation.  Pover- 
ty is  here,  I  say,  cleanly  and  retiring,  and,  but  for 
the  pretended  music  of  street-organs,  one,  after  quite 
a  residence,  might  bear  Paris,  as  did  innocent  old 
Sir  Francis  Head,  with  the  belief  that  the  dense 
population  had  no  lower  class,  when  gaunt  hunger 


162  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

and  biting  cold  make  life  miserable.  But  it  is 
here  police  regulations,  aided  by  shame,  drive  it 
from  palace  doors  and  public  ways ;  yet,  in  spite  of 
laws,  it  is  all  about  us,  shivering  in  hunger  and 
pain  with  complaint  until  driven  wild,  and  all 
Europe  is  astonished  by  a  revolt  which  destroys 
governments  and  threatens  society  itself. 

This  disposition  to  shrink  from  exposure,  or  ap- 
pear well  when  discovered,  is  very  striking.  When 
subjects,  victims  of  sudden  accidents,  are  carried  to 
the  hospitals,  it  makes  no  difference  how  poor  they 
may  be,  their  persons  are  cleanly,  and  their  few 
clothes  exhibit  scrupulous  care.  The  professor, 
making  his  rounds  with  the  students,  finds  each 
patient  prepared  to  receive  them — by  a  proper  ar- 
rangement of  the  little  dress,  the  smoothing  the 
hair,  and  washing  the  face  and  hands.  Doctor  B. 
related  to  us  an  instance  of  this  sort,  which  struck 
me  very  forcibly.  In  a  female  ward  of  a  hospital, 
about  daylight,  the  hour  at  which  Dubois  with  a 
class  visits  the  place,  while  they  were  passing 
slowly  from  bed  to  bed  upon  one  side  of  the  long 
hall,  our  friend  observed  a  girl  sitting  on  the  little 
couch,  carefully  combing  her  hair  and  arranging 
her  dress.  He  observed  this,  because  the  girl  was 
so  ill  he  had  not  expected  the  day  before  again 
to  see  her  alive,  and  the  preparation  she  made  was 


THE    POOK    OF    PARIS.  163 

evidently  accompanied  with  great  effort,  for  she 
paused  frequently,  and  continued  with  sad  exhaus- 
tion. The  teacher  and  pupils  passed  on,  and  in  less 
than  an  hour  returned  upon  the  side  where  B.  had 
observed  the  poor  girl  preparing  to  receive  them. 
She  had  made  preparation  to  receive  a  greater 
visitor  than  they — she  had  smoothed  her  hair  and 
folded  her  dress  for  death. 

This  winter  so  far  has  been  severe  upon  the 
poor.  Bread  is  dear,  fuel  scarce,  and  the  weather 
unusually  cold.  For  the  first  time  in  many  years 
the  Seine  has  been  frozen  solid,  and  enough  snow 
is  upon  the  ground  for  sleighing.  During  the 
holydays  I  was  confined  to  my  room  by  ill-health, 
not  severe  enough  for  the  bed,  yet  shutting  me 
up;  and  as  I  looked  from  my  window  upon  Place 
St.  Sulpice,  and  saw  the  white  flakes  rudely  shaken 
down  by  the  bitter  north  winds,  I  said,  God 
help  the  poor!  The  Place  continually  suggests  the 
prayer,  as  it  appears  in  its  wintry  garb — an  appear- 
ance its  architect  made  no  preparation  for,  in  fact 
never  dreamed  of.  The  immense  fountain  in  the 
centre,  with  its  four  colossal  figures  of  church  digni- 
taries sheeted  in  ice,  has  a  grotesque,  chilling  ap- 
pearance ;  while  the  huge  lions  at  the  base  seem 
growling  in  stiffened  rage  as  they  freeze  to  death 
The  naiads  and  naked  gods  of  fountains  and 


164  BELL    SMITH     ABROAD. 

squares  look  dismally  out  of  place  through  the 
falling  snow.  The  boys  are  not  accustomed  to  it 
— they  play  in  a  subdued,  quiet  way,  as  if  this 
rough-visaged  winter  were  a  serious  affair,  and  not 
to  be  trifled  with. 

The  voitures,  in  a  long  line,  seem  frozen  to  the 
ground  ;  the  drivers,  very  fat  men,  generally,  are  shiv- 
ering upon  their  boxes,  or  walk  slowly  about,  beat- 
ing their  breasts,  as  if  engaged  in  an  insane  attempt 
to  be  lively,  while  the  bony  horses  mumble  and 
snore  in  their  nose-bags.  The  winds  roar  about  the 
great  towers  of  St.  Sulpice,  and  over  the  many 
century-shaded  walls;  the  bright  snow  dances  down 
from  hights,  which  made  St.  Sulpice  seem  a  mole-hill. 
The  fountain  of  stony  divines  and  couchant  lions, 
coated  in  ice,  is  dazzling  white.  The  broad  square  is 
white.  The  tops  of  ancient  voitures  look  like  sheets. 
The  old  church  is  tipped  with  light  at  a  thousand 
points.  Omnibuses  run  noiselessly,  while  the  smok- 
ing horses  slip  and  fall  upon  their  noses,  then  up 
and  stagger  on  again.  It  is  winter  every  where, 
but  not  our  hearty,  wholesome,  merry  winter,  greeted 
by  wild  shouts  of  boys,  and  set  to  the  music  of 
sleigh-bells;  but  miserable,  dull,  shivering  winter. 
Way  up  in  a  seventh-story  window,  an  old  French- 
man, in  red  nightcap,  has  poked  out  his  head  and 
said  "sacre!"  He  goes  in  and  hoists  an  umbrella. 


THE     POOR     OF     PARIS.  165 

for  the  roof  leaks  in  numerous  places,  and  sug- 
gests rheumatism.  The  withered  old  woman  at  the 
corner,  watching  her  hand-cart  of  oranges,  says 
"sacre,"  and  she,  too,  sets  up  an  ancient  umbrella, 
which  rather  makes  things  worse  ;  for,  while  it 
snows  above,  it  rains  beneath  her  deceptive  shade. 
All  Paris  says  "sacre" — all  France  says  "sacre," 
to  this  v  le,  stupid  winter,  which  comes  so  uncalled 
for  and  brings  such  misery. 

All  say  "sacre"  but  the  little  boy  on  the  pave- 
ment below,  and  he  is  too  busy  trying  to  sell 
his  few  apples,  to  notice  even  his  own  sufferings. 
"Belles  pommes,  messieurs;  belles  pommes,  mesdames ; 
un  sou,  seulement  un  sow,"  comes  up  through  the 
cold  air,  thin,  tremulous,  and  incessant.  I  had 
watched  that  lad  three  days.  I  can  not  tell  why, 
but  I  had  to  look  at  him,  fascinated,  although  my 
heart  ached  as  I  gazed  at  the  suffering  little  figure. 
He  was  young,  quite  young,  yet  had  an  earnest, 
thoughtful  expression,  premature  in  the  large  eyes; 
as  sadly  out  of  place  was  the  starved  look  about 
the  thin  lips,  blue  with  cold,  the  sunken  cheeks, 
and  slender  neck.  Poor  little  fellow  !  the  misera- 
ble, thin  blouse  hung  wet  about  his  shivering 
form,  while  the  old  cap  had  an  ugly  hole  in  the 
top,  and,  as  I  looked  down,  I  could  see  the  snow 
fall  and  melt.  And  he  never  sold  an  apple — a 


166 


BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 


dozen  withered,  decayed  things,  certainly  not  tempt 
ing;  yet  he  never  ceased  in  his  earnest  efforts. 
At  daylight,  I  awakened,  hearing  that  appeal;  as 
the  freezing  winter  evening  swept  down  the  streets, 
it  was  the  last  cry  to  cease. 

My  imagination  pictured  some  sick  father,   some 


THE    POOR    OF    PARIS.  167 

widowed  mother  or  sister,  depending  upon  this 
feeble  effort  for  daily  bread.  I  could  not  look  at 
the  little  sufferer  any  more  in  quiet,  and  so  sent 
Nannette  with  orders  to  purchase  the  entire  stock 
of  the  little  street-merchant.  I  watched  them  from 
the  window — the  glad  light  which  lit  up  his  thin, 
pale  face,  as  she  took  his  apples — the  eagerness 
with  which  he  brought  out  an  old  piece  of  brown 
paper,  and  insisted  in  an  attempt  to  tie  them  up, 
are  beyond  my  telling,  as  I  saw  them  through  my 
tears.  On  Nannette's  return,  I  asked  her  if  she 
knew  where  he  lived. 

"  In  this  house,  madam." 

"In  this  house,   Nannette?" 

"Oh,  yes,  madam,  I  often  meet  him  on  the  back 
stairway.  His  people  live  quite  up.  I  never  see 
any  but  him." 

"  Well,  Nannette,  purchase  his  apples  every  day  ; 
and  when  you  see  .him  passing  our  kitchen,  give 
him  something." 

I  do  not  want  to  write  of  my  few  charities,  but 
can  not  tell  you  clearly  my  little  history  without. 
The  next  day,  and  the  next,  my  little  merchant 
was  at  his  stand.  In  the  meanwhile,  Nannette, 
with  the  activity  peculiar  to  her,  had  made  fresh 
discoveries,  and  was  full  of  information.  The  family 
above  consisted  of  an  old  man,  a  very  old  mau, 


168  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

and  his  two  grandchildren — a  boy,  my  little  apple- 
merchant,  and  his  sister,  sick  in  bed.  They  had 
lost  father  and  mother,  some  months  since,  of  the 
cholera;  and  the  old  soldier,  for  sueh  he  was,  with 
great  difficulty  kept  them  in  bread.  Indeed,  Nan- 
nette  said  she  could  not  make  out  where  the  little 
did  come  from. 

One  afternoon,  some  days  after  receiving  this  in- 
telligence, I  happened  in  the  kitchen,  as  my  little 
friend  passed  up  the  stairway.  Some  ill  greater 
than  all  the  rest  was  being  received,  for  the  big 
tears  were  coursing  down  his  hollow  cheeks  in 
silence.  A  strange  impulse  seized  me  to  follow 
him.  I  was  framing  in  my  mind  some  excuse  for 
the  intrusion  as  I  followed  unnoticed,  for  he  was 
busy  with  his  sorrows,  and  a  vain  attempt  to  choke 
down  his  sobs  and  tears.  Arriving  at  the  topmost 
landing,  I  had  to  pause  for  strength — and  saw  him 
go  in  at  a  door  partly  open,  which  he  left  ajar 
behind  him.  In  a  moment  I  followed.  The  door 
was  open  to  aid  a  poor  chimney,  and,  as  it  was, 
I  looked  through  a  smoky  atmosphere  upon  the 
sickness  and  misery  within.  The  room,  a  half- 
garret,  with  ceiling  sloping  to  the  floor,  and  lit  by 
a  skylight  of  four  panes,  was  almost  destitute  of 
furniture,  and  so  dimmed  by  smoke,  it  resembled 
a  den.  An  old  table,  on  which  were  a  few  dishes, 


THE    POOR    OF     PARIS.  1G9 

two  broken  chairs,  and  a  low  cot,  made  up  the 
sum.  Upon  the  cot  I  saw,  through  the  gloom,  a 
thin,  pale  face,  the  counterpart  in  death  almost  of 
my  little  apple-boy — an  old  man,  whose  snowy  head 
seemed  to  gather  about  and  increase  the  light  of 
the  apartment.  The  boy  stood  with  his  back  to 
me  in  silence. 

"  "Well,  Maurice,  my  child,  did  you  see  my  old 
general,  and  will  the  doctor  come?" 

It  was  a  minute  before  the   boy  replied, 

"  They  drove  me  from,  the  door — the  doctor  says 
he  has  not  time,  but  will  have  Marie  taken  to  the 
hospital." 

The  old  man  started,  and  said,  quickly : 

"  Not  there,  not  there — we  have  given  it  enough." 
Then,  after  a  pause,  he  added,  "  Patience,  my  chil- 
dren, the  good  father  will  find  us  yet." 

The  little  sufferer  lifted  a  skeleton  hand,  and, 
placing  it  on  the  old  man's,  said : 

"I  am  better  now — much  better — I  will  be  well 
soon,  grandpa." 

I  felt  myself  an  intruder  on  sacred  ground,  and 
hastened  to  offer  my  services.  The  embarrassment 
connected  with  such  tendering  of  assistance  was 
greatly  increased  by  the  pride  of  the  old  man.  He 
who  did  not  hesitate  to  expose  his  aged  head  to 

the  blasts  of  winter,  upon  a  public  bridge,  and  beg 

9 


170  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

for  his  children,  shrunk  back  proudly  when  his  poor 
home  was  entered,  and  its  secret  life  laid  bare.  I 
drew,  however,  the  proffered  chair  to  the  other 
side  of  the  bed,  and,  taking  a  fevered  hand  in  mine, 
soon  found  a  way  to  the  old  man's  heart  and  con- 
fidence. By  degrees,  I  had  their  history — was  told 
how  he  had  lost  his  brave  boy — how  the  wife  fol- 
lowed, and  how  they  sank  deeper  and  deeper  in 
poverty,  until  starvation  itself  was  there.  The 
grandfather  had  sought  work,  but  was  too  feeble 
for  any  service.  The  children  had  striven  bravely 
in  many  ways,  until  Marie  was  taken  sick,  and 
then  the  furniture  and  ordinary  comforts  disappeared, 
until  the  last  sou  went,  and  the  poor  sufferer  sank 
nearer  and  nearer  to  death. 

I  will  not  dwell  upon  this  sad  picture.  I  men- 
tioned this  instance  of  distress  to  my  friend,  Madam 
B.,  and  she,  who  knows  every  thing  woeful,  had, 
among  other  matters,  stored  away  the  cipher  which, 
marked  upon  a  letter  addressed  to  Louis  Napoleon, 
takes  it  directly  to  his  hands.  She  wrote  to  him 
that  an  old  soldier  of  the  grand  army  was  starving 

to  death  at  No. St.  Sulpice.     She  received  no 

answer,  and  no  notice  whatever  seemed  taken  of 
her  kind  appeal ;  but  soon  after,  an  unknown  heart 
came  to  the  assistance  of  our  poor  friend. ,  The 
furniture  was  restored,  fuel  and  food  came  in  abun- 


T1IE    POOR    OF    PARIS.  171 

dantlj,  a  Sister  of  Charity  took  her  position  by  the 
bed-side,  and,  stranger  than  all,  one  of  the  most 
eminent  physicians  in  Paris  came  daily  to  the  garret. 
-I  saw  the  fair  donor  of  all  this  good — a  stranger 
to  me,  although  her  face,  from  some  cause,  seemed 
familiar.  She  came  in  a  plain  private  carriage,  re- 
mained but  a  short  time,  yet  was  very  thoughtful 
and  kind. 

Poverty  could  be  driven  from  the  door,  but  sorrow 
remained.  Earth  had  no  mineral,  the  fields  no 
herb,  science  no  skill,  to  bring  the  fleeting  shadow 
back  to  life.  The  physician  shook  his  head  sadly, 
and  every  day  went  more  slowly  from  the  humble 
home.  But  it  was  all  in  vain ;  we  felt  that  she  was 
dying.  One  afternoon,  little  Maurice  came  for  me ; 
it  was  indeed  the  closing  scene.  About  the  bed 
were  gathered  the  strange  lady,  the  old  man,  the 
Sister  of  Charity,  Maurice,  and  myself.  The  winds, 
sobbing,  rattled  the  sleet  upon  the  roof,  as  we  bent 
over  that  little  couch  to  catch  the  last  faint  breath. 
IIow  slowly  the  hours  wore  away!  The  storm  with- 
out gradually  grew  still,  as  the  little  breathings 
came  quicker  and  lower-.  At  last  they  ceased — 
the  slorm  and  struggle — and  suddenly  the  sun  broke 
through  the  sky-light,  falling  in  glory  upon  the  little 
form— falling  in  glory  upon  the  gray  head — falling 
in  glory  upon  the  beautiful  face  of  the  fair  bene- 


172  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

fie  tress,  and  no  earthly  coronation  can  ever  make 
her  appear  half  so  beautiful  as  she  was  by  the  little 
couch  of  poverty. 

These  things  are  done,  we  are  told,  for  political 
effect ;  well,  perhaps  so — I  am  only  happy  in  know- 
ing that  they  are  done. 


XIII. 


$"asfjious 


HE  last  request  made,  be- 
fore leaving  home,  came 
from  numerous  female 
friends,  begging  earnestly 
to  send  them  the  fashions 
—  the  latest  wear.  I  have 
been  very  delinquent.  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  am  at  a  loss,  and  have  been  since 
my  arrival,  upon  this  important  point.  The  French 
women  are  the  best-dressed  persons  in  the  world, 
and,  being  such,  have  no  one  pattern  of  an  article 
which  all  exhibit,  as  with  us.  The  fair  and  bru- 
nette, the  tall  and  short,  the  slender  and  robust, 
can  not,  save  by  miracle,  find  one  garment  suitable 
to  all.  Yet  at  home,  the  attempt  is  made,  and  the 
unbending  milliner  deals  out  to  each  the  one  thing, 
casting  every  one"  who  dare  depart  from  it  outside 
of  good  society.  This  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of 
Parisian  toilette  that  I  have  made  some  approach 


174  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

to  a  solution.  The  spirit,  which  adopts  the  becooi' 
ing,  gives  a  peculiar  wear  to  the  dress.  Come  with 
me  upon  the  Boulevards,  this  sunny  afternoon,  and 
let  us  take  Paris  as  it  promenades.  What  a  count- 
less throng,  and  all  on  parade.  If  there  is  a  single 
ali'air  of  importance  in  two  miles  of  this  stream  of 
life,  I  am  no  judge  of  business.  It  is  the  hour  for 
an  exhibition,  and  let  us  take  it  in  such  spirit  and 
notice.  The  stores  have  their  contents  in  the  win- 
dow's ;  the  idlers  have  their  best  upon  their  persons; 
and  representatives  are  here  from  all  parts  of  the 
world  in  competition,  but  without  success.  The 
Parisians  are  at  home,  and  without  equals.  This 
English  woman,  with  her  thick  shoes,  costly  furs, 
comfortable  dress,  and  ruddy  complexion,  is  a  real 
daughter  of  John — has,  doubtlessly,  many  acres, 
good  health,  and  feels  independent,  and  above 
all  creation — but  she  is  not  Parisian,  all  her  money 
and  influence  can  not  make  her  that.  Here  comes 
a  pale,  delicate,  American  girl — intellect  in  every 
feature,  and  unlimited  wealth,  too,  at  her  command 
— yet  all  her  ingenuity  and  imitation,  sustained  by 
unlimited  resources,  only  make  her  a  conspicuous 
failure.  The  very  "  bonne,"  in  cap  and  gown,  is 
something  more  than  they.  Look  at  this  animated 
instance,  as  she  walks  gracefully  along.  "What  a 
complete  picture.  The  dress  is  not  a  dress,  but  a 


FASHIONS    AND     FOLLIES. 


175 


grace  born  with  her,  and  far  beyond  the  touch  of 
art.  She  owes  nothing  to  the  bonnet  that  is  so 
small,  and  falls  so  far  back  that  in  front  it  appears 
only  a  cap ;  she  owes  nothing  to  the  velvet  cloak 
and  rare  furs,  though  she  carries  three  thousand 
dollars  on  her  shoulders  and  arms ;  she  owes  nothing 


176  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

to  the  well-fitting  dress,  so  subdued  yet  so  rich  ; 
nothing  to  the  fair  face  even,  to  the  delicate  hand, 
to  the  well-turned  ankle,  and  exquisite  foot — those 
all  may  be  given  to  another,  and  amount  to  nothing. 
It  is  the  manner  in  which  these  are  carried — are 
shown  to  the  world ;  it  is  not  dress,  it  is  grace ; 
not  modest  precisely,  but  spiritual.  She  comes  and 
goes,  a  thing  inimitable,  unparalleled.  She  lifts  her 
skirts  to  escape  the  soiled  pavement  in  a  way  that 
would  startle  our  home  people — yet  how  well  done. 
Crowds  may  jostle,  carriages  may  splash,  yet  she 
glides  along,  untouched,  unsoiled,  a  creature  of  grace, 
of  beauty.  She  has  not  the  dignity  of  the  English 
woman,  nor  the  modesty  of  an  American — yet  su- 
perior to  both  on  the  Boulevards,  she  has  the  talent 
for  dress"  that  makes  up  for  the  want  of  all  else. 

The  great  evil  with  us,  is  the  spirit  of  imitation. 
An  American  woman  dare  not  dress  becoming,  for 
the  fear  of  appearing  odd.  The  Parisians  have  a 
way  of  holding  their  dress,  not  unbecoming  pre- 
cisely in  them,  because  done  with  the  talent.  That 
manner  will  be  imported  to  the  United  States,  and 
one  and  all  will  attempt  the  performance — awkward 
and  unbecoming,  to  say  the  least,  as  it  must  appear. 
Yet,  the  "  Bloomer"  dress,  a  costume  very  well  in 
its  place,  was  hooted  and  laughed  out  of  the  country, 
because  it  did  not  originate  in  Paris.  Now,  I  beg 


FASHIONS    AND    FOLLIES.  177 

of  you  to  remember,  I  am  not  "  a  strong  minded 
woman,"  but  quite  the  contrary — something  of  a 
timid,  weakly  conservative — and  the  Bloomer  dress 
I  by  no  means  think  becoming;  in  it  we  lose  the 
long  sweep  of  drapery,  so  beautiful  in  our  present 
dress ;  but;  in  the  country,  for  fields  and  woods, 
riding,  driving,  or  traveling,  it  is  necessary  to  com- 
fort and  health.  Yet,  such  are  the  wrongs  of  our 
humble  imitation,  that  the  very  evils  of  Paris  are 
unhesitatingly  adopted.  We  wear  improper  dresses 
at  evening  parties ;  we  dance  improper  figures  in 
public  assemblies  ;  and  suffer  all  kinds  of  uncomfort- 
able ways,  because  we  dare  not  be  honest  and  inde- 
pendent. 

"We  have  the  belief,  prevalent  at  home,  that  gaudy 
colors  in  dress  are  peculiar  to  our  country.  This  is 
not  correct.  The  Parisians,  on  a  bright  day,  re- 
semble, if  you  can  imagine  such  a  thing,  a  garden 
of  promenading  sunflowers.  The  Boulevards  have 
looked  to  me,  at  times,  as  if  the  merry  owners  had 
put  in  circulation  their  window-curtains.  Strangers, 
perhaps,  do  not  notice  this  so  much  as  with  us,  be- 
cause Parisian  women  can  carry  any  thing  so  grace- 
fully. Before  we  pull  down  the  curtains  and  shape 
them  into  dresses,  we  must  learn  to  walk ;  and  to 
learn  this  art,  we  must  walk.  The  shambling,  roll- 
ing, duck-step — the  hard,  angular,  upright,  grenadier 

8* 


178  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

quick  step — the  slow,  the  fast,  the  uncertain,  may 
all  be  hid  in  carriages,  or  kept  at  home — but  never 
cured,  save  by  exercise — continual  walking  in  the 
open  air. 

It  is  my  duty  to  give  you  some  information  of 
the  gayeties  of  Paris.  But  you  must  look  to  some 
other  correspondent — I  have  neither  health  nor 
inclination.  Save  a  few  visits  to  the  opera,  and 
three  dinner  parties,  I  know  nothing.  The  bal- 
masque,  once  so  famous  that  all  strangers  were  ex- 
pected at  least  to  see  one,  have  degenerated  into 
such  vile  things,  that  no  one  having  the  slightest 
self-respect  ever  wishes  to  witness  the  second.  The 
most  famous — I  was  tempted  to  write  infamous — 
are  at  the  Italian  Opera  House,  and  commences  at 
midnight,  Saturday.  This  makes  it  a  Sunday  orgie  ; 
and  it  continues  on  Sabbath  morning  until  daylight. 
Our  little  party,  one  and  all,  declined  witnessing 
such,  until  curiosity  overcame  their  scruples,  and 
they  went,  Dr.  Bob  protesting  that  it  was  a  shocking 
affair — any  other  day  it  would  not  be  so  bad.  D. 
answering,  that  Bob  reminded  him  of  the  old  lady 
in  Virginia,  who  begged  the  gentlemen  engaged  in 
running  the  boundary-line  so  to  arrange  it  as  to 
keep  her  house  where  it  was,  for  "  Caroliny  was 
sich  a  sickly  State." — D.  thinking  the  evil  to  be  in 
Jie  ball,  and  not  in  the  day. 


FA&HIONS    AND    FOLLIES.  179 

I  saw  nothing  of  our  friends  until  after  a  late  break- 
fast, when  they  appeared,  looking  much  ashamed 
of  themselves,  and  were  loud  in  their  condemnation 
of  the  affair.  They  amused  me  with  a  little  history 
of  an  elderly  gentleman  they  were  pleased  to  call, 
"  Ancient  Jones."  This  individual  had  accompanied 
his  only  son  to  Paris,  to  see  that  his  medical  edu- 
cation should  be  thoroughly  completed,  and  under 
his  paternal  care.  I  did  not  learn  that  the  youthful 
Jones  was  disposed  to  break  from  the  wise  control 
of  his  careful  father.  But  the  old  gentleman  was 
full  of  fears — he  heard  of  Paris  as  the  city  of  evil, 
full  of  pitfalls  and  snares  for  youthful  steps.  One 
night,  not  long  since,  the  quiet  hopeful  said  that 
his  near  and.  kind  friend  Brooks  was  very  ill  of 
the  typhoid  fever,  and  he  wished  to  tender  his  ser- 
vices, and  sit  up  the  night  by  his  friend.  The  father 
readily  consented  to  this  Christian  conduct — and,  as 
he  permitted  his  boy  to  have  no  night-key,  left  the 
door  of  their  bedroom  unlocked. 

After  his  son's  departure,  however,  he  remem 
bered  that  it  was  Saturday  night — the  night  of  the 
grand  bal-masque  at  the  Italian  Opera  House,  a 
thing  he  had  heard  much  of,  and  had  been  solicit- 
ed by  his  delicate  boy  to  attend,  merely  to  see, 
for  once.  But  his  morality,  his  sense  of  duty,  re- 
coiled ;  he  sternly  bade  his  son  be  silent  on  that 


180  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

vile  subject.  But,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  old  gentle- 
man had  a  lurking  curiosity,  and  on  this  evening 
it  became  frightfully  strong.  What  could  possess 
him?  He  attempted  his  usual  French  studies,  but 
Ollendorff  seemed  doubly  stupid.  One  or  two  sen- 
tences in  that  valuable  work  took  possession  of  his 
brain.  "  Comptez  vous  oiler  au  bal-masque  ce  soir?" 
(Do  you  intend  to  go  to  the  masque-ball  this  even- 
ing?) "Je  compte  y  aller"  (I  intend  to  go.)  The 
opportunity  was  so  favorable — he  could  go  and 
return  without  his  son's,  without  any  one's  knowl- 
edge. His  satanic  majesty  fairly  took  possession 
of  the  good  old  man;  and  he  repaired  to  a  neigh- 
boring store,  where  dresses  were  rented  or  sold, 
and  selected  the  most  appropriate — that  of  a  friar 
of  order  gray— placed  himself  in  a  voiture,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  was  at  his  destination.  He  entered 
• — the  scene  startled  him  beyond  measure — the 
crushing  roar  of  two  hundred  instruments,  the  daz- 
zling light  of  chandeliers  and  jets,  which  seemed 
to  go  glittering  up  and  up  into  a  dizzy  distance, 
lighting  tier  after  tier,  where  thousands  of  eyes 
from  behind  black  dominos  reflected  back  the  rays, 
as  they  looked  down  upon  the  myriads  of  fantastic 
forms  which  rolled  and  tossed  under  the  sway  of 
the  deafening  music,  like  a  vexed  sea  by  moon- 
light— made  up  a  whole  to  dream  of,  not  to  see, 


FASHIONS    AND     FOLLIES.  181 

Mr.  Jones  was  startled,  then  shocked  a  little,  very 
little  amused,  and  finally,  as  I  shall  tell  you,  great- 
ly alarmed.  A  strange  fascination  possessed  him. 
After  he  had  gratified  his  curiosity,  he  still 
lingered;  he  wandered  on  through  the  wild  maze, 
and,  as  the  hours  wore  on,  the  fun  grew  fast  and 
furious — monks  and  knights  jumped  higher  and 
higher — devils  twisted — gipsies,  flower-girls,  dibar- 
deurs,  screamed  as  they  fairly  flew;  while  hideous 
"beasts  roared,  howled,  and  squealed.  The  musicians 
seemed  possessed,  and  rolled  out  without  ceasing 
the  wild  strains,  that  seemed  to  madden  every  one. 
Mr.  Jones  was  bewildered;  many  times  was  he 
seized  upon  by  some  fearful  creature,  and  whirled 
through  dances  which  made  him  dizzy  and  sick. 

At  last  Mr.  Jones  was  frightened  -  he  was  cap- 
tured by  a  group,  that,  in  a  mad  fit,  seemed  de- 
termined to  torture  him  to  death.  He  could  not 
get  away;  one  of  the  number,  a  girl,  scandalously 
habited,  seemed  the  leader.  Her  dress  was  very 
improper — her  conduct  disgusting.  She  was  evident- 
ly intoxicated — smelled  dreadfully  of  bad  cigars 
and  brandy.  She  would  not  let  him  go — called 
him,  in  excellent  English,  "her  ancient  garcon" 
— "a  regular  brick" — while  the  others  laughed, 
shouted,  and  danced  round  him.  At  last  he  tore 
himself  away,  rushed  home  at  daylight,  tore  off  his 


182  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

gown,  thrust  it  into  the  grate,  and  by  its  warmth 
hastened  to  bed,  fearing,  every  moment,  the  arrival 
of  his  son. 

Wearied  to  death,  he  soon  fell  into  heavy  sleep. 
When  he  awaked,  he  was  conscious  of  some  one 
being  not  only  on  the  bed,  but  partially  on  him. 
He  aroused  himself — he  looked — could  be  believe 
his  eyes!  there,  on  his  bed,  in  his  room  at  home, 
was  that  infamous  female,  sound  asleep,  with  a 
cotton  umbrella  under  her  arm — worse  and  worse, 
the  mask  was  off,  and  this  female  was  his  own 
innocent  boy.  He  sprang  from  the  bed,  falling 
over  and  arousing  some  one,  in  the  guise  of  a 
devil,  asleep  on  the  floor;  another,  a  tall  savage, 
was  on  the  sofa — yet  another,  on  the  table;  they 
were  all  round  him.  Did  he  dream?  Was  he 
yet  at  that  infamous  ball?-  Neither.  His  son, 
awakened,  stared  stupidly  at  him,  and  the  sleepers, 
starting  up,  burst  into  a  roar,  as  one  of  them  ex- 
claimed, "Why,  Harry,  Jim,  here  's  the  ancient 
gargon!"  Mr.  Jones  happened  to  glance  in  the 
mirror — he  had  forgotten,  in  his  haste,  to  remove 
his  mask.  These  gentlemen  had  kindly  brought 
his  son  home,  and,  being  somewhat  fatigued,  had 
remained  with  him.  The  emotions  of  the  elder  and 
younger  Jones  I  leave  to  your  imagination. 


XIV. 


N  E  thing  distinguishes 
Paris  from  all  cities  in  the 
world.  You  will  not  find 
this  in  the  beautiful  exhi- 
bitions of  art,  or  historical 
associations.  Other  places 
have  their  century-stained 
cathedrals ;  other  cities  have 
palaces  equaling  Versailles 
and  Fontainebleau ;  other 
countries  have  galleries 
wonderful  as  the  Louvro 


184  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

or  the  Luxembourg.  But  to  know  in  what  Paris 
differs  from  all  the  world,  one  must  seek  a  low, 
dark,  ugly  building,  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine, 
and  almost  under  the  shadow  of  Notre  Dame. 
This  is  the  Morgue — the  dead-house  of  Paris.  Here, 
on  marble  tables,  poverty,  misery,  insanity,  and  de- 
spair, take  their  last  look  at  the  living — hold  a 
last  grand  levee,  where  come  all,  old  and  young, 
delicate  and  brutal,  to  gaze,  laugh,  or  cry,  and  then 
forget. 

French  people  commit  suicide.  With  them,  it  is 
the  great  remedy  for  all  life's  evils.  The  pangs  of 
despised  love  are  drowned  or  smothered ;  the  debtor 
wipes  out  all  scores;  the  vexed  husband  or  wife 
finds  here  the  only  divorce;  the  young,  too  full  of 
hope,  one  would  think,  seek  it  eagerly ;  the  aged 
veterans  of  a  thousand  ills,  and  near  the  house  of 
death  by  the  course  of  nature,  impatiently  hasten 
the  end.  The  very  children,  dreading  punishment 
for  having  lost  a  bun,  take  flying  leaps  from 
bridges.  It  is  the  "  French  leave "  so  proverbial. 
It  is  a  French  passion — a  French  belief.  An 
American  would  consider  it  about  the  worst  ar- 
rangement he  could  make — about  the  absurdest 
compromise  with  his  troubles.  But  the  French, 
who  have  no  clear  ideas  of  life  hereafter,  grow 
disgusted  with  this,  and  no  process  of  reasoning 


LA    MORGUE.  185 

can  convince  them  that  another  may  be  worse. 
A  Irench  writer  has  ingeniously  put  forth  the  doc- 
trine, lately,  that  the  schooling  the  nation  has  for 
ages  received  from  wars  and  revolutions  has  created 
a  national  peculiarity — a  constitutional  trait,  born 
with  more  or  less  force  in  each  person.  Well,  it 
may  be  so;  but  it  sounds  to  me  like  the  reason 
given  by  Mrs.  Nicholby,  who  remarked,  you  re- 
member, on  seeing  three  different  accounts  of  shoe- 
makers in  Paris  committing  suicide,  "I  declare,  all 
the  shoemakers  committing  suicide.  Well,  it  must 
be  something  in  the  leather."  The  truth  is,  the 
victims  of  suicide  are  persons  without  homes  and 
without  religion — causes  enough  for  insanity,  Heaven 
knows. 

Reading  the  daily  papers  in  the  column  devoted 
to  such  events,  one  sometimes  laughs  and  some- 
times sighs.  I  could  fill  a  dozen  letters  with  the 
strange,  amusing,  and  horrible  instances  I  have 
clipped  from  the  journals. 

Strangers  mounting  to  the  top  of  the  many 
columns  or  hights  at  Paris,  such  as  Vendome  Arch 
of  Triumph,  and  Notre  Dame,  will  be  surprised  to 
find  themselves  closely  followed  by  a  gend'arme, 
who  never  for  a  moment  removes  his  eye  from  the 
person  so  pursued.  Such  espionage  is  disagreeable 
in  the  extreme;  but  has  its  origin  in  the  fact,  that 


186  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

for  a  long  time  it  was  the  favorite  mode  of  saicide, 
to  throw  one's  self  from  these  monuments.  This  foi 
a  time  seemed  to  supersede  the  insidious  chafing- 
dish,  or  the  waters  of  the  Seine.  Having  climbed 
to  the  top,  they  had  an  opportunity  of  taking  a 
last  lingering  look  at  beloved  Paris,  before  launch- 
ing so  abruptly  into  the  other  world,  where  ParL-es 
are  not.  The  guards  on  the  monument  exhibit 
quite  a  knowledge  of  physiognomy — pursuing  some 
much  more  closely  than  others.  A  friend  of  mine, 
with  lantern -jawed,  desponding  countenance,  one  in 
fact  that  has  suicide  written  upon  it,  was  terribly 
annoyed  by  these  watchful  guardians;  and  he  has 
told  me  privately  that  he  is  actually  tempted  to 
commit  suicide,  if  only  to  escape  from  their  sur- 
veillance. There  is  quite  a  method  in  these  suicides 
— they  diminish  after  the  opera  opens,  and  charcoal 
takes  the  place  of  drowning,  after  the  cold  weather 
sets  in. 

Quite  a  singular  story  appears  among  the  jour- 
nals to  which  I  have  alluded,  of  a  man  who,  when 
about  casting  himself  from  the  Arch  of  Triumph, 
was  caught  by  the  guard  on  duty,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment held  suspended  above  the  fearful  abyss,  when 
the  guard  remarked  to  the  unfortunate  that  he 
could  not  hold  him  any  longer.  "  Then,  let 
go,"  said  the  man,  which  the  guard  did,  from  ne- 


LA     MORGUE.  187 

cessity,  whereupon  the  unfortunate,  shouting  ug;ue" 
(l^bk  out)  to  the  passers  below,  was  dashed  to 
pieces  on  the  pavement.  The  poor  fellow  proba- 
bly remembered  an  instance,  published  in  the  pa- 
pers a  few  days  previous,  of  a  woman  who  threw 
herself  from  the  same  place,  but  falling  upon  the 
backs  of  two  workmen,  nearly  killed  them,  herself 
escaping. 

Here  is  an  item  that  will  come  under  the  head 
of  amusing:  A  couple  of  Parisians,  unhappy  in 
their  domestic  relations,  determined  to  break  up 
housekeeping,  have  an  auction,  divide  the  proceeds, 
and  separate.  After  the  sale,  upon  counting  the 
money,  they  found  it  far  less  than  they  had  reason 
to  anticipate.  Filled  with  despair,  their  second 
remedy  was  quite  in  keeping  with  the  first — they 
resolved  to  commit  suicide,  by  drowning.  Arriv- 
ing at  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  the  wife  feeling 
timid,  the  husband,  after  tenderly  embracing  her, 
set  a  courageous  example,  by  plunging  boldly  in. 
Quite  accustomed  to  water,  he  dived  to  the  bottom, 
and  remained  some  time  for  his  wife  to  join  him. 
As  she  did  not  come,  however,  he  returned  to  the 
surface,  and  there  saw  his  better  half  still  on  the 
bank,  watching,  with  considerable  interest,  the  place 
where  he  had  disappeared.  "  Why  do  you  not 
jump  in?"  he  cried.  "Ah!  Alphonse,"  she  re- 


188  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

sponded,  "you  swim  so  well,  and  I  can  not  swim 
at  all !"  Whereupon,  the  devoted  husband  c^me 
on  shore  and  began  beating  his  wife,  when  both 
were  arrested  by  the  police,  and  the  above  facts 
disclosed. 

Some  of  these  instances  are  pitiable  in  the  ex- 
treme, as  the  following,  the  length  of  which  you 
must  excuse,  from  the  fact  that  the  death  occurred 
in  our  neighborhood,  and  I  can  vouch  to  some 
extent  for  its  truth. 

Josephine  S.  was  the  youngest  of  two  daughters 
of  a  poor  countryman  in  the  valley  of  Aoste.  The 
cabin  of  the  good  Piedmontais  being  camped  upon 
the  borders  of  the  route  which  led  from  Switzer- 
land to  Italy,  the  two  sisters,  as  soon  as  spring 
came,  placed  themselves  upon  the  road,  offering 
flowers  and  fruits  to  travelers.  The  eldest  of  the 
two  girls  was  very  beautiful,  and  attracted  the  at- 
tention and  interest  of  a  French  lady,  returning  to 
Paris,  who,  gaining  the  consent  of  her  father,  car- 
ried her  home  as  chamber-maid. 

The  young  Josephine,  from  that  event,  had  but 
one  wish — that  of  pleasing  some  rich  traveler,  and 
being  also,  as  her  sister,  taken  into  service;  but 
the  poor  girl  had  a  physique  any  thing  but  engag- 
ing: She  was  afflicted  with  the  terrible  malady,  so 
common  to  mountainous  regions,  known  as  the 


LA     MORGUE.  189 

"goitre,",  by  which   gradually  her  intellect  was  be- 
ing weakened. 

Years  passed  away  without  the  dream  of  Josephine 
being  realized,  and  letters  from  her  sister  arriving 
from  time  to  time,  and  always  accompanied  with 
presents,  only  increased  the  desire,  until  it  became 
a  fixed  idea,  and  the  poor  girl  formed  the  project 
of  attempting  the  voyage,  with  its  risks  and  perils, 
alone.  So,  towards  the  end  of  September  last,  she 
abandoned  the  paternal  roof,  and  started  for  France, 
carrying  her  clothes,  a  very  little  money,  but  a 
great  deal  of  hope.  After  having  traveled  on  foot 
a  part  of  Switzerland  and  France,  she  arrived  'at 
Paris,  worn  down  with  fatigue,  without  shoes,  and 
without  a  sous.  But  she  was  at  last  at  the  end 
of  her  desires.  Scarcely  waiting  to  enter  the  bar- 
rier, she  asked  the  dwelling  of  her  sister,  the  ad- 
dress of  which  she  had,  and,  without  taking  time 
to  rest,  covered  with  dust,  she  arrived  before  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  hotels  of  the  Faubourg  St. 
Honore.  At  the  sight  of  this  sumptuous  dwelling, 
the  poor  girl  believed  herself  saved,  and  hastily 
demanded  to  speak  to  her  sister;  but  judge  of  her 
despair  in  learning  that  her  sister  was  in  England 
with  her  mistress,  'and  would  not  return  before 
spring.  Josephine,  broken-hearted,  wandered  at 
hazard. 


190  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD.       . 

The  niglit  coming  on,  she  seated  herself  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree  on  the  Champs  Ely  sees,  where  she 
sat  until  day.  The  following  morning,  not  know- 
ing where  to  go,  and  pressed  by  hunger,  she  offered 
herself  as  servant  at  several  houses.  But,  as  I 
have  said  before,  her  appearance  did  not  speak  in 
her  favor,  and  for  a  long  time  her  services  were 
refused.  Finally,  a  restaurateur  had  compassion,  and 
admitted  her  into  his  establishment  as  dishwasher. 
In  one  day,  the  honest  traiteur  perceived  it  would 
be  difficult  to  keep  the  poor  girl,  as  her  awkward- 
ness was  constantly  resulting  in  some  catastrophe. 
At  the  end  of  a  month,  he  thanked  her,  paid  her 
double  wages,  and  gave  her  a  certificate.  Thanks 
to  this  benevolent  friend,  she  soon  found  another 
place;  but,  in  a  few  days,  they,  too,  dismissed  her, 
and  so  with  others,  until  she  found  it  impossible 
to  retain  a  situation. 

In  this  sad  extremity,  she  rented  a  little  garret 
under  the  roof  of  a  house  behind  the  old  church 
of  St.  Sulpiee.  Having  no  furniture  to  guarantee 
the  rent,  she  had  to  pay  it  in  advance,  which 
diminished  her  little  savings  to  a  mere  pittance. 
She  installed  herself  in  her  new  abode,  with  her 
clothes,  which  composed  all  her  baggage,  and  from 
the  time  of  her  entrance  they  saw  her  no  more. 
During  the  first  days,  the  concierge  thought  that 


LA    MORGUE.  101 

his  lodger  had  occupations  which  prevented  her 
from  leaving  her  room;  but  one  morning,  while 
sweeping  the  stairs,  he  gratified  his  curiosity  by  a 
look  through  the  key-hole.  He  saw  the  little  win- 
dow covered  with  an  apron,  and  thought  he  could 
distinguish  a  body  lying  on  the  floor.  Rushing 
to  the  commissary  of  police,  he  told  his  suspicions. 
In  a  few  moments  the  police  had  burst  the  door 
open,  and  the  concierge  was  found  correct  in  his 
suspicions.  It  was  not  only  a  body,  but  a  corpse, 
which  lay  upon  the  naked  stone  floor;  for  she  had 
not  even  a  bundle  of  straw  to  lie  upon.  She  was 
smothered  by  charcoal,  'and,  not  having  a  furnace, 
had  lit  the  deadly  combustible  in  a  corner  of  her 
poor  retreat 


XV. 


t.  Suljnr*. 


NEGLECTED  to  tell  you  long 
since  that  we  had  gone  into  winter 
quarters,  as  D.  termed  it,  on  Place 
St.  Sulpice.  "We  have  the  second 
cta-re  in  a  new  house  on  the  corner. 

O  ' 

and  can  look  down  Eue  Bonaparte, 
rue  du  vieux  Colombi&r,  or  out  on 
the  place  St.  Sulpice,  upon  which 
has  stood  for  nearly  a  thousand 
years  the  church  of  that  name, 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and 
largest  in  Paris.  We  are  within  a  moment's  walk 
of  the  Luxembourg  palace  and  beautiful  gardens, 
where  Lucy  and  I  have  gathered  up  some  health 
by  much  exercise.  The  wide  circle  of  marble  queens, 
most  beautifully  sculptured,  look  down  in  state 
upon  the  palace  and  grounds,  in  various  graceful 
attitudes  and  gorgeous  robes,  and  seeming  to  me 
yet  more  cold  than  even  marble  calls  for  at  the 


ST.    SULTICE.  193 

intrusion  of  the  multitude.  These  grounds,  the  most 
beautiful  about  Paris,  were  once  sacred  to  loyalty. 
The  rich  green  sward,  the  graceful  trees,  marble 
terraces,  fountains,  ponds,  and  statuary,  were  once 
greeted  only  by  high  dames  and  proud  gentlemen. 
Now,  one  sees  the  course  blouse,  the  capped  and 
aproned  bonne,  the  tasseled  student,  passing  and 
repassing,  indifferent  to  the  historic  past — indifferent 
to  the  rich  stores  of  the  present  around  them — 
quite  at  home,  and  without  thanks.  I  often  listen 
to  the  splashing  of  the  fountain,  and  think  of  the 
ears  that  heard  the  same  music  centuries  ago, 
while  perhaps  their  hearts  throbbed  with  hopes, 
or  sank  in  disappointment,  as  do  ours  now.  The 
same  fountain  tosses  its  restless  spray,  the  same 
statuary  looks  upon  us,  the  palace  itself  lifts  its 
marble  front  above  the  trees,  while  we  flit  by 
like  shadows. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  features  to  me  in 
this  neighborhood  is  found  in  the  streets,  being  the 
<same  in  character  and  name,  and,  in  many  instances, 
the  same  buildings  as  in  the  day  when  men  and 
women,  famous  in  story,  paced  them,  or  rattled  in 
gorgeous  carriages  over  the  rude  streets.  They  are 
the  same  in  name  and  appearance  now,  as  when 
D'Artagnan  and  his  swashing  comrades  loved,  fought, 

and  flourished.     These   romance  writers  have  made 

9 


194  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

classic  ground  of  nearly  all  Paris ;  and  it  has  a 
strange  effect  upon  us  Americans,  from  our  new 
land,  where  the  fictionists  dare  not  locate  their 
stories,  for  fear  that  solemn,  untinted  fact  may 
cast  them  into  ridicule.  The  absence  of  such  a  soft- 
ening past  at  home,  makes  us  seize  hold  of  and 
relish  it  the  more  when  found. 

The  place  St.  Sulpice  affords  me  the  greatest 
amusement.  It  is  so  very  French  in  its  animated 
scenes — on  a  bright  Sabbath,  above  all.  The  great 
bell  of  the  old  church  roars  like  a  distant  tempest ; 
the  fountain'sparkles  and  splashes ;  the  four  colossal 
church  dignitaries  look  calm  and  happy ;  the  ugly 
lions  even  seem  disposed  to  be  domesticated  and 
come  down.  All  is  bright,  merry,  and  active.  A 
mountebank  has  stopped  his  queer  carriage  in  one 
corner,  and,  to  the  music  of  a  wretched  hand-organ, 
sells  nostrums,  warranted  to  cure  all  the  ills  flesh 
is  heir  to.  A  dog-opera  is  in  successful  operation 
on  one  side  of  the  fountain,  while  on  the  other  9 
live  circus,  without  horses,  has  a  tremendous  crowd. 
The  quack  shouts,  the  dogs  bark,  the  clown  tumbles 
to  the  merry  laugh,  while  the  huge  bell,  calling 
Christians  to  prayer,  nearly — not  quite — drowns  all. 
There  comes  a  procession  of  priests,  four  hundred 
or  more,  from  the  Theological  Seminary  over  the 
way.  They  wind  by  the  dogs — they  almost  pass 


0 
ST.    SULPICE.  195 

over  the  circus — neither  of  which  for  a  moment  sus 
pend  proceedings,  and  disappear  in  the  church. 

Now  the  bell  ceases,  and  one  hears  at  intervals  the 
deep  swell  of  the  church  organ,  as  the  Sabbath 
worship  goes  on ;  only  at  intervals,  however,  for 
the  clown  stands  on  his  head  and  kicks,  the  dog 
stands  on  his  legs  and  barks,  and  the  crowds  are 
noisy  and  restless.  The  omnibus  rolls  by,  the  hacks 
are  busy,  the  stores  are  open  and  gay,  and  Paris 
looks  busier  than  ever.  At  last,  the  long  service 
is  over,  but  the  plays  go  on.  The  long  procession 
of  four  hundred  young  priests  winds  out,  and  pass 
over  the  way  into  their  still  college.  Crowds  rush 
down  the  church  steps,  and  swell  the  audiences  of 
circus,  opera,  and  quack.  Prayers  are  said,  and 
amusements  go  on  so,  in  every  open  space  in  the 
city,  for  on  a  sunny  Sabbath  Paris  is  in  train. 

It  is  quite  a  feature  in  Fourier's  system  of  social- 
ism, you  know,  to  have  the  children  gathered  under 
the  keeping  of  the  aged ;  in  this  manner  giving  them 
a  light  employment,  suitable  to  their  abilities,  while 
the  parents  are  engaged  in  more  important  pursuits. 
This  dream  of  the  modern  philosopher  is  practically 
carried  out  in  Paris.  We  are  accustomed  to  such 
things  among  the  wealthier  classes  of  even  our  own 
country ;  but  here  it  is  practiced  by  all.  The  poor 
mother,  who  accomplishes  more  than  one-half  the 


100  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

business  pertaining  to  the  livelihood,  finds  her  chil- 
dren in  the  way;  and  all  round  Paris  are  houses 
where  the  poor  children  are  received  and  nurtured, 
until  old  enough  to  commence  the  toil  to  which 
they  are  fated.  The  rich  find  the  little  sufferers  in 
the  way  of  their  amusements  ;  the  poor  consider 
them  burdens ;  and  so  the  rising  generation  is  shut 
out  from  homes,  and  all  the  blessings  parental  care 
alone  can  bestow.  One  having  the  ability  might 
draw  a  moral  from  these  facts,  and  account  for  many 
of  the  strange  inconsistencies  found  in  the  French 
character. 

Shortly  after  the  removal  to  our  present  place  of 
abode,  I  asked  to  have  some  grates  set  in  our  Amer" 
ican  manner.  The  French  manner  of  disposing  of 
fuel  is  a  pleasant  little  fiction,  so  far  as  warmth  goes, 
and  not  at  all  to  my  liking.  We  secured  the  services 
of  quite  an  intelligent-looking  man,  but  had  immense 
difficulty  in  forcing  him  to  arrange  the  grate  as  de- 
sired. To  brick  up  the  cavernous  fire-place,  which 
smoked  abominably,  and  put  the  grate  quite  in  the 
room,  were  propositions  to  him  unintelligible.  After 
considerable  discussion,  he  did  as  we  desired.  It 
was  interesting  to  look  upon  his  manner  of  accom- 
plishing this.  He  was,  as  our  concierge  informed 
us,  quite  a  workman;  yet  he  used  no  trowel,  and 
took  up  the  mortar,  and  spread  it  on  the  bricks  with 


ST.    SULPICE.  197 

his  hands,  and  chopped  the  bricks,  when  not  of  the 
right  size,  with  a  small  axe,  in  a  way  which  made 
one  nervous.  I  was  curious  to  know  what  wages 
a  mason  received ;  and,  in  answer,  he  informed  me 
that  he  could  command,  on  an  average,  two  francs 
and  a  half  (fifty  cents)  per  day.  This  he  seemed 
to  think  was  very  good,  and  proceeded  to  tell  me 
that  many  of  his  comrades  were  in  a  worse  condition 
than  himself.  I  asked  him  if  there  was  not  much 
distress  among  the  laborers  in  Paris  this  winter. 

"  Yes,  madame,"  he  replied,  "  a  great  deal ;  every 
thing  is  very  high  and  taxes  Very  heavy." 

I  asked  if  he  thought  a  change  of  Government 
would  help  matters.  He  said  "  perhaps  ;"  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  and  glancing  from  under  his  bushy 
eyebrows,  in  a  way  that  would  not  have  been  pleasant 
to  a  "bourgeois,"  but  expressed  no  opinion.  The 
caution  manifested  by  all  classes  on  the  subject  of 
politics  is  very  peculiar.  Every  thing  about  you  is 
shrouded  in  mystery.  I  have  not  yet  met  with  a 
French  man  or  woman,  outside  of  the  shopkeepers, 
who  expressed  a  hearty  opinion  in  favor  of  Louis 
Napoleon.  I  have  not  found  one  to  give  utterance 
to  one  unfavorable.  This  opened  conversation,  and 
he  proceeded  to  tell  me  of  the  distress  existing 
among  the  poor  in  his  immediate  neighborhood, 
which,  given  in  his  matter-of-fact  way,  was  certainly 


198  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

as  sad  a  narrative  as  I  had  heard  for  many  a  day. 
But  this  is  leading  me  from  what  I  sat  out  to  write. 
A  bright-eyed  boy  of  ten  or  twelve,  carried  to  him 
the  bricks  and  mortar,  and  in  a  pause  of  his  talk 
I  asked  if  it  was  his  son. 

"  We  hope  so,  madame,"  he  replied. 

Why  he  made  this  singular  answer  I  asked,  and 
he  proceeded  to  tell  me.  He  had  married  a  Ger- 
man ;  a  very  good  woman,  but  not  used  to  the  French 
ways.  They  were  very  poor,  and,  when  she  was 
ill,  (and  very  ill  she  was,  of  a  fever,  after  the  birth 
of  their  boy — quite  out  of  her  wits,)  he  found  it 
impossible  to  hire  a  nurse,  and,  in  accordance  with 
custom,  he  sent  the  infant,  but  two  days  old,  to  a 
house  kept  for  such  purposes  near  Paris.  The  fever 
continued  many  days,  and,  after  six  weeks  of  sick- 
ness, the  mother  recovered  sufficiently  to  ask  to  see 
her  child.  The  father  was  about  going  for  it,  when 
a  neighbor,  poor  as  himself,  who  had  children  at 
this  nursery,  informed  him  that  his  child  was  dead. 
There  was  a  mystery  about  the  matter.  He  had 
received  no  announcement  of  the  fact  from  the  es- 
tablishment, and,  since  the  day  of  the  reported  death, 
they  had  continued  to  receive  the  allowance,  paid 
weekly,  which  they  had  demanded.  Full  of  anxiety 
he  went  to  the  house. 

The  circumstances  accompanying  his  entrance  were 


ST.     SULPICE.  199 

very  suspicious.  The  old  woman  seemed  excited 
and  flurried  when  he  announced  his  name  and  er- 
rand ;  and,  before  she  could  answer,  a  thin,  pale, 
half-starved  apparition  of  a  little  girl,  crouching  by 
the  fire-place,  cried  out,  "  Why,  that  baby 's  dead !" 
The  old  woman  gave  her  a  look,  and  violently  contra- 
dicted the  assertion.  A  child  was  given  to  him,  cer- 
tainly corresponding  in  age  to  his  own  ;  but,  so  firm  was 
the  poor  man  in  his  belief  that  they  were  imposing 
on  him,  he  would  not  have  nursed  the  poor  little 
fellow,  but  for  fear  of  the  consequences  to  his  sick 
wife.  The  child  was  taken  home,  but  the  painful 
doubt  remains. 

"  We  do  the  best  we  can  ;  it  is  our  duty  to  cherish 
and  support  the  poor  thing.  It  may  be  our  child, 
after  all.'T 

Sad  story,  and  a  very  laudable  sentiment ;  but  it 
did  not  prevent  his  cheating  us  abominably,  when 
we  came  to  pay  for  the  grates. 


XVI. 


Houst  of 


the  corner,  near 
our  present  residence, 
|  stands  the  house  once 
the  residence  of  the 
famous  Marat,  and  in 
which  he  received,  from 
the  white  hand  of 
Charlotte  Corday,  a 
death  that  sends  them 
both  down  to  a  re- 
mote posterity.  I 
take  great  delight  in 
visiting  places  where 
great  events  have  left 
a  crowd  of  associations  for  one  to  gather  up  and 
make  live  again,  but  I  hesitate  about  attempting 
to  place  them  on  paper.  It  is  like  an  exhibition 
of  dry  bones  as  specimens  of  former  living  beauty. 


THE    HOUSE    OF    MARAT.  201 

But  this  place  has  taken  so  strong  a  hold  upon 
my  imagination,  I  can  not  resist  the  temptation  of 
giving  you  an  account  of  my  visit. 

Leaving  Place  St.  Sulpice  by  the  Eue  St.  Sulpice, 
you  turn  down  Kue  de  1'Ancienne  Comedie,  all 
the  while  slipping  over  rounded  stones,  upon  which 
the  fog  seems  to  have  condensed  in  a  vile  com- 
pound, any  thing  but  pleasant,  and  always  danger- 
ous ;  and  all  the  while  you  keep  a  look-out  for  ex- 
traordinary carts,  towering  up  above  a  single  horse, 
which  rushes  along  as  if  oats  were  on  the  rise, 
or  remises  that  make  no  pauses,  but  turn  corners 
as  if  insane,  and  you  hear  the  warning  cry  of 
"  gare,"  as  a  chronicle  of  an  accident,  having  peen 
jammed  into  an  apple-cart,  more  or  less  damaged. 
This  is  French  in  the  extreme — every  one  for  him- 
self, and  the  police  for  us  all.  The  walk,  with  this 
exception,  is  not  unpleasant.  You  are  in  an  ancient 
part  of  the  city ;  along  these  very  ways  the  Roman 
soldier  once  strode,  the  master  of  the  world.  But 
a  short  distance  further  on  are  yet  the  remains  of 
his  palace,  of  which  one  chamber  yet  exists  entire. 
At  a  later  date — much  later,  indeed — a  master  of 
another  kind — one  of  the  kings  of  thought — pow- 
dered and  ruffled,  sauntered  into  that  building,  once 
a  theatre,  or  into  this,  yet  a  cafe,  where  they  ex- 
hibit the  very  table  at  which  lie  sat  and  sipped, 

9* 


202  BELL    SMITH     ABEOAD. 

his  wine,  and  heard  himself  called  Monsieur  Vol- 
taire. If  you  wish  to  have  these  shadows  of  the 
past,  and  look  around  the  world,  now  quite  as 
strange — but  this  is  becoming  an  old  story  to  you. 
I  am,  as  you  certainly  must  be,  tired  of  this  talk 
about  bonnes,  students,  bourgeois,  and  other  living 
features  of  Paris.  Here  we  are,  looking  at  a  queer 
old  yellow  building,  on  the  corner,  three  stories  in 
hight,  and  only  remarkable  for  the  corner  being 
set  t)ff  by  round  towers,  telling  of  a  time  when 
eveiy  man's  house  was  indeed  his  castle.  This  is 
the  house;  here  resided  the  "Friend  of  the  Peo- 
ple." From  the  low  and  lonely  place  emanated 
those  terrible  propositions  and  fiery  appeals  which 
made  the  nobles  shudder  and  the  very  Government 
shake. 

I  had  walked  by  the  place  several  times,  but 
one  day,  from  a  sudden  impulse,  we  determined 
to  enter — not  the  most  inviting  proposition,  for  on 
the  corner  in  the  ground  floor  is  a  drinking-shop, 
and  several  bloused  men  were  then  loud  of  their 
cups.  Nothing  daunted,  however,  we  made  the  at- 
tempt. Entering  a  narrow  passage,  we  made  our 
wishes  known  to  a  concierge,  in  a  dirt}',  yellow 
gown,  and  had  much  difficulty.  But  a  five-franc 
seemed  to  clear  her  brain,  and  we  were  invited  to 
ascend.  A  narrow,  winding  stair  conducted  to  a 


THE    HOUSE    OF    MARAT.  203 

narrow  hall,  dim  and  dirty.  Here,  Charlotte  Corday 
waited  for  the  servant  to  convey  her  request  to 
the  dreaded  terrorist — for  Marat  was  ill,  and  bath- 
ing; and  the  domestic  had  just  said  he  could  not 
be  seen.  But  she  was  urgent — had,  she  said,  busi- 
ness of  importance  to  the  nation.  Did  that  brave 
heart  throb — did  any  glimpse  of  the  future  flash 
upon  the  troubled  mind — what  were  the  thoughts, 
what  the  emotions,  crowded  into  brief  moments  on 
that  narrow  landing  ?— the  few  last  moments  of 
peace  and  rest  in  this  world  to  her.  "While  she 
waited  where  for  a  second  I  stood,  calling  up  the 
past,  the  bright  sun  of  a  July  evening,  gilded  as 
it  set  the  many  domes  of  Paris,  and  through  the 
dim  window  came  the  hum  of  multitudinous  life. 
What  scenery,  and  what  an  event  1  We  entered 
the  room — certainly,  an  uninviting  place.  Low  ceil- 
ings, dingy  walls,  uncertain  light  from  the  narrow 
windows,  made  up  the  place  where  lived  and  died 
this  fearful  man.  The  furniture  is  mean  now — but 
was  no  better,  we  are  told,  when  its  inmate  held 
in  his  hand  the  wealth  of  all  Paris.  He  who  could 
at  a  word  control  millions,  lived  and  died  in 
squalid  poverty.  Strange  fact ! 

I  sat  myself  in  a  low,  broken  chair,  and  read 
over  the  fearfully-interesting  account — so  startling, 
so  apparently  without  motive,  and  certainly  with 


204  BELL     SMITH     ABKOAD. 

out  other  results  than  to  add  another  tragedy  to  the 
already  crowded  list.  Had  Charlotte  Corday  waited 
but  a  few  days,  a  mightier  than  herself  would 
have  removed  the  terrorist.  His  sands  of  life,  so 
rudely  shaken  by  grand  events  and  low  debauches, 
were  almost  run — with  a  single  blow  she  shivered 
the  glass,  and  gave  her  name  to  immortality. 

Marat  left  a  sister,  who  but  a  short  time  since 
was  yet  alive  in  Paris.  A  friend  gives  me  an  in- 
teresting account  of  a  visit  to  her,  which  I  lay  be- 
fore you : 

After  hearing  from  the  niece  of  my 'old  washer- 
woman the  interesting  account  of  the  death  of 
Marat,  and  the  courageous  behavior  of  Charlotte 
Corday  after  the  event,  I  determined  to  hazard  a  visit 
to  the  sister  of  Marat,  who  was  then  living.  Eue 
de  la  Barillerie,  No.  32,  was  the  address  given  me.  I 
found  an  alley,  narrow  and  sombre,  guarded  by  a 
low  gate.  Upon  the  walk  I  read  these  words : 
"  The  porter  is  to  be  found  on  the  second  floor." 
I  mounted.  At  the  second  floor,  I  demanded 
Mademoiselle  Marat.  The  porter  and  his  wife  looked 
at  each  other  in  silence.  "Is  it  here?"  I  asked, 
impatiently.  "Oh!  yes,  sir."  "Is  she  at  home?" 
"Always — this  poor  woman  is  paralysed  in  the 
legs."  "What  story  will  I  find  her?"  "On  the 
seventh — the  door  to  the  right  1"  The  wife  of  the 


THE    HOUSE    OF    MARAT.  .     205 

porter,  who  until  then  said  nothing,  exclaimed  in 
a  bantering  voice — 

"You  will  not  find  a  very  young  woman,  I  war- 
rant you." 

I  continued  to  mount.  The  staircase  became  steep- 
er ;  the  walls,  without  paint,  showed  in  full  day  the 
dirty  nakedness  of  the  plaster.  Arrived  imder  the 
roof,  before  a  door  badly  closed,  I  knocked;  after 
some  moments  waiting,  during  which  I  gave  a  last 
glance  of  the  eye  to  the  wretchedness  around  me, 
the  door  opened.  I  stood  struck  with  astonishment. 
The  being  who  opened  the  door  and  stood  before 
me  was  Marat  himself.  I  had  been  warned  of  her 
resemblance,  almost  supernatural,  to  her  brother, 
yet  was  startled  to  find  it  so  real.  Her  coarse, 
shapeless  dress,  with  a  napkin  wrapped  about  her 
head,  from  un'der  which  very  little  hair  escaped, 
all  worn  by  a  masculine-looking  woman,  added  to 
the  illusion — for  one  remembers  the  white  cloth 
upon  Marat's  head  at  the  hour  of  his  death  in  the 
bath. 

I  made  the  customary  salutation,  asking,  "Made- 
moiselle Marat  ?" 

She  fixed  her  eyes,  black  and  piercing,  upon  me, 
and  answered,  "  It  is  here — enter."  We  passed  by 
a  gloomy  cabinet,  where  we  saw  a  kind  of  a  bed. 
This  cabinet  led  to  a  chamber,  very  neat,  but  mis 


206  BELL    SMITH    ABKOAD. 

erable.  The  furniture  consisted  of  three  chairs,  a 
table,  a  cage  where  sung  two  canaries,  and  an 
open  armoire  which  contained  some  books.  One 
of  the  windows  being  broken,  it  had  been  replaced 
by  a  sheet  of  oiled  paper,  which  threw  in  the 
room,  from  the  rainy  day,  a  light  gray  and  dull. 
I  was  not  able  to  prevent  myself,  in  noticing  all 
this,  from  thinking  upon  the  disinterestedness  of 
those  revolutionary  kings,  who  had  held  in  their 
hands  the  fortunes  and  heads  of  all  Paris,  and  yet 
died  leaving  their  widows  and  sisters  to  garrets  on 
the  seventh  floor,  without  clothing,  and  perhaps 
without  food  or  fire. 

The  sister  of  Marat  placed  herself  in  an  arm- 
chair, and  invited  me  to  sit  myself  near  hei.  After 
stating  my  name,  and  the  object  of  my  visit,  I 
hazarded  some  questions  about  her  brother.  She 
spoke  to  me,  I  must  say,  rather  of  the  revolution 
than  of  Marat.  I  was  surprised  to  find,  under  the 
dress  and  outward  seeming  of  a  woman  of  the 
People,  a  language  correct,  precise,  and  vehement. 
I  there  recognized  all  the  ideas,  and  often  the  ex- 
pressions, of  her  brother.  Also,  she  was  having 
over  me,  added  to  the  gloom  pervading  the  cham- 
ber, a  strange  effect.  The  terror  which  attaches 
itself  to  the  men  and  things  of  1793  penetrated 
me,  little  by  little;  I  became  cold.  This  woman 


THE    HOUSE    OF    MARAT.  207 

seemed  less  the  sister  of  Marat  than  his  shade.  I 
listened  to  her  in  silence — to  the  words  which  fell 
from  her  lips. 

"  One  founds  not,"  said  she,  "  a  republic  on  gold 
or  ambition,  but  on  virtue.  It  is  necessary  to  mor- 
alize the  people.  A  republic  needs  pure  men,  who, 
to  the  attractions  of  riches  and  the  seductions  of 
power,  will  be  inflexible.  There  is  no  other  glory 
on  earth  than  to  work  for  the  rigid  enforcement  of 
just  and  equal  laws.  Cicero  is  great,  because  he 
has  crossed  the  designs  of  Catiline,  and  defended 
the  liberty  of  Eome.  My  brother,  himself,  is  to  me 
something,  only  because  he  has  worked  al]  his  life 
to  destroy  the  factions,  and  to  establish  the  welfare 
of  the  people;  otherwise  I  would  disown  him. 
Monsieur,  remember  this  well :  it  is  not  the  liberty 
of  a  part,  but  the  liberty  of  all,  that  is  required,  and 
this  can  only  be  obtained  through  reason  and  virtue. 
Tyranny  does  not  spring  from  the  unjust  nature  of 
the  few,  but  the  debasement  of  the  many.  The 
weed  springs  from  the  uncultivated,  rank  soil;  cut- 
ting the  weeds  will  not  correct  the  evil.  Good 
must  be  sown,  and  sustained  in  its  struggles  to  take 
the  place  of  corruption.  My  brother  died  at  his 
work.  In  vain  they  may  assail — they  can  never 
efface  his  memory !" 

She  spoke  then  of  Robespierre  with  bitterness. 


208  BELL    SMITH    ABEOAD. 

"  There  was  nothing  in  common,"  added  she,  "  be- 
tween him  and  Marat.  If  my  brother  should  have 
lived,  the  heads  of  Danton  and  Camille  Desmoulins 
would  not  have  fallen." 

Interrogated  if  her  brother  had  been  truly  the 
horse  doctor  of  the  Comte  d'Artois — 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "it  is  the  truth;  and,  being  such, 
he  was  pursued,  later,  by  a  crowd  of  countesses  and 
marquesses,  who  sought  to  win  him  from  the  cause 
of  the  people.  They  judged  him  by  themselves, 
and  thought,  because  poor,  he  must  be  corrupt. 
Indeed,  it  was  rumored  at  one  time  that  he  had  sold 
himself  for  a  chateau.  Monsieur,"  added  she,  show- 
ing me  with  pride  her  miserable  abode,  "look;  I 
am  his  sister,  and  his  only  heir  ;  behold  the  chateau." 

I  surprised  her,  several  times,  fixing  upon  me 
looks  distrustful  and  inquisitive.  The  suspicions 
of  the  revolutionists  of  1793  had  not  died  in  her. 
She  avowed  to  me  that  she  had  need  of  information 
upon  my  patriotism.  I  saw  her  also  become  angry 
at  some  of  my  observations — it  was  truly  the  blood 
of  Marat.  The  principles  advocated  by  her  brother 
made  up  the  whole  legacy  left  to  her  keeping.  The 
man,  calamitous,  sorrowful,  and  unfortunate,  was  in 
her  eyes  but  the  passing  shadow — his  doctrines,  the 
substantial  good  left  to  all  humanity. 

My  interview  would   have  been    protracted,  and 


THE    HOUSE    OF    MARAT.  209 

perhaps  more  interesting,  but  I  left  impatiently,  on 
her  alluding  accidentally  to  Charlotte  Corday,  and 
calling  her  "an  infamous  woman  of  the  pave."  I 
am  somewhat  ashamed  to  own  this,  for  it  was 
Marat's  sister  denouncing  her  brother's  assassin; 
but  the  language  was  so  severe,  and  the  look  so 
strong,  I  forgot  myself.  As  I  rose  to  go,  she  fol- 
lowed me  to  the  door,  catching  at  table,  chair,  and 
wall,  as  she  passed,  staggering,  for  her  infirmities 
seemed  under  excitement  much  worse,  and  said : 

"  If  you  wish  more  information,  come  again,  and 
if  I  am  alive  you  shall  have  it;  but  age  and  in- 
firmity make  it  uncertain.  The  concierge  will  open 
this  door  some  day,  and  find  a  flickering  light 
blown  out." 

I  turned  to  look  at  the  almost  skeleton  form, 
dark,  threatening,  and  terrible,  and  it  seemed  as  if  I 
gazed  upon  the  last  phantom  of  the  reign  of  terror, 
scowling  as  it  disappeared. 

We  never  met  again. 


XVII. 


Clje  Ctti 


GUIS  Napoleon 
has  endeavored 
this  winter  to  re- 
vive all  the  glories 
of  the  old  Empire. 
This  effort  has  a 
double  object  in 
view — to  give  an 
air  of  courtly  splen- 
dor, considered  in- 
cident to  imperial 
government,  and 
create  work  for  milliners,  tailors,  hair-dressers, 
and  the  great  body  of  artists  whoso  genius  and 
efforts  pertain  to  the  outer  human.  This  last 
is  the  most  important;  for  the  old  nursery  rhyme 
of  "Satan  finds  some  mischief  still,  for  idle  hands 
to  do,"  is  well  appreciated  in  Paris,  where  tailors, 
hatters,  and  shoemakers,  not  engaged  in  getting  up 


THE    TUILERIES.  211 

court  dresses,  go  to  pulling  down  courts.  This 
sounds  strange  to  American  ears,  who,  educated  to 
self-dependence,  see  nothing  in  a  government  but  a 
political  game,  in  which  he  engages  for  amusement 
only,  and  feels  himself  quite  as  well  without  as  with 
it.  But  in  France,  the  great  body  of  the  people 
consider  the  Government  in  the  light  of  a  parent 
bound  to  provide  for  all ;  and  the  moment  such 
provision  ceases,  they  consider  the  parent  an  im: 
becile,  and  proceed  to  destroy.  Nothiqg  can  be 
more  pitiless  than  a  French  mob,  unless  it  be  an 
American  mob.  It  makes  little  difference  how  ear- 
nestly the  statesman  may  labor,  or  what  lore  the 
patriot  may  exhibit  in  administering  public  affairs, 
the  first  failure  in  crops,  the  first  distress  manifested, 
will  see  barricades  go  up,  and  the  earnest  and  faith- 
ful will  be  butchered  without  question  or  delay, 
unless,  indeed,  the  governing  power  has  taken  the 
precaution  to  hedge  itself  about  with  bayonets,  and 
make  fear  the  governing  element.  Three  of  the 
mildest  and  best  governments  France  ever  expe- 
rienced, were  the 'most  unfortunate — Louis  XVI.,  Louis 
Philippe,  and  the  Republic.  Now,  Louis  Napoleon 
gallops  scowling  along  the  Boulevards,  and  the  dense 
mass  look  back  in  sullen  anger ;  but  between  them 
stand  three  hundred  thousand  armed  men,  and  their 
positions  will  remain  unchanged  so  long  as  the  troops 


212  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

are  true.  Woe  to  the  Government  the  moment  the 
bayonets  begin  to  fret.  After  all,  one  should  not 
waste  any  sympathy  upon  a  government  destroyed 
in  this  manner.  The  powers  reap  what  they  have 
sown ;  they  educate  the  people  to  this.  Louis  Na- 
poleon has  now  over  one  hundred  thousand  men  in 
Paris,  engaged  in  pulling  down,  and  rebuilding,  and 
improving  the  city.  This  cannot  last  always,  and 
after  awhile  the  hundred  thousand  will  build  bar- 
ricades. There  is  a  dish  of  politics  for  you,  and  I 
trust  you  will  give  the  proper  credit. 

Impelled  by  curiosity,  I  determined  to  risk  some 
health,  and  secure  various  lectures,  by  visiting  one 
of  the  court  balls  at  the  Tuileries.  No  one  can  tell 
how  long  this  pageantry  will  last,  so  one  can  not  wait 
on  good  health  for  that  which  will  not  probably  wait 
for  us.  D.  held  out  strenuously.  We  had  of  course 
to  don  the  court  costume,  and  he  protested  that 
being  made  to  resemble  a  stout  butler  out  of  place  was 
a  thing  out  of  question.  But  we  prevailed,  of  course, 
and  the  eventful  night  saw  us  gloved,  ruffled,  and 
coiffeed,  in  a  style  that  would  have  made  stare  our 
respected  relatives  in  their  unsophisticated  homes 
in  the  valleys  of  beautiful  Ohio.  I  had  a  nervous 
laugh,  as  the  thought  struck  me,  how  one,  full  of  age 
and  honors,  who  regards  the  calm  evening  of  life 
with  more  dignity  than  a  crowned  king,  would  look 


THE    TUILERIES.  213* 

at  our  little  party,  and  could  almost  hear  him  say. 
"  Bell  and  D.  are  certainly  losing  the  little  sense 
nature  has  given  them."  I  will  not  write  how  we 
appeared.  Suffice  it  to  say,  we  could  have  passed 
for  fashionables  of  Franklin's  and  Washington's  day. 
Hancock  could  have  put  his  arm  through  D.'s,  and 
sauntered  along,  without  feeling  ashamed  of  causing 
remark.  Those  wgre  very  simple  folk,  I  am  sure; 
"and  why  not  go  to  our  first  Presidents  for  our 
dress,  as  a  late  Administration  proposed  doing  for 
its  principles,"  said  D.,  relieved  considerably  by  the 
set  of  his  velvet  coat. 

At  Pont  Neuf  our  modest  voiture  fell  into  the 
line  of  carriages,  that  stretched  its  length  from  the 
palace  doors  up  through  various  streets  at  an  as- 
tonishing distance.  Indeed,  had  we  been  justly  dealt 
by,  time  enough  would  have  been  given  for  various 
serious  reflections.  We  did  not  properly  put  our- 
selves at  the  end  of  these  carriages,  but  our  driver 
made  various  voyages  along  the  line  in  search  of 
an  opening ;  without  success,  however,  until  an  om- 
nibus broke  upon  the  arrangement,  and  our  whip 
rushed  in  with  a  dexterity  worthy  of  all  credit  and 
some  cash.  As  it  was,  he  nearly  upset  a  delicate 
little  coupe,  from  which  issued  a  delicate  little 
scream,  and,  after  awhile,  a  delicate  little  head, 
which,  near  as  I  could  make  out  in  the  starlight, 


214  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

regarded  hack  782  in  great  scorn.  Two  very  aiis 
tocratic  horses  snorted  and  pawed  directly  behind, 
and  I  had  some  nervous  feelings  about  a  carriage 
pole  being  introduced  to  our  party.  The  fact  is, 
we  were  bringing  a  very  shabby  establishment  into 
what  Carlyle  calls  gig  society,  that  looked  as  if  it 
might  have  served  to  take  Nebuchadnezzar  and 
family  out,  when  that  gentleman  went  down  to  his 
country  residence.  What  cared  we  for  that,  rude  re- 
publicans as  we  were  ?  We  drove  hack  782  between 
the  wind  and  this  nobility  on  considerations  of  Bunker 
Hill,  Fourth  o'  July,  and  other  great  principles,  and 
we  left  the  consequences  with  Providence. 

I  had  a  protracted  view  of  Font  Neuf  by  starlight, 
for  the  long  line  moved  slowly  on.  Pont  Neuf, 
where  Sterne  wept  over  the  poor  man's  dead  ass — 
Pont  Neuf,  once  thought  the  finest  bridge  in  the 
world,  the  center  of  civilization  and  power,  for  on 
this  isle  Paris  first  existed.  Here  Eichelieu's  car- 
riage, like  ours,  rolled  slowly  or  rapidly  along — over 
this  bridge  came  Ravillac,  tracking,  like  fate,  the 
steps  of  Henry  IV. — here  Charlotte  Corday,  Madame 
Roland,  Danton,  Robespierre,  and  almost  thousands 
of  others,  wended  their  way  in  heavy  carts  from 
prison  to  death — "the  bridge  of  sighs,"  indeed. 
Looking  up,  I  could  see  dimly  the  statue  of  Henry 
IV. ;  to  my  right  the  Louvre  shone  in  light ;  while 


THE    TUILERIES.  215 

on  the  left,  where  once  stood  the  dark  Tour  de 
Nesle,  the  college  built  by  Mazarin  lay  in  shadow, 
the  Seine  flowing  silently  away  between.  But  all 
things,  including  a  novel  by  Dumas,  and  a  speech 
in  the  Senate,  must  have  an  end.  The  end  to  our 
starlight  view  of  the  Seine  terminated  about  eleven 
o'clock.  I  can  -believe  others  saw  the  day  dawn  at 
the  palace  doors.  We  entered  at  last,  threw  off  our 
cloaks  in  the  so-called  dressing-room,  and  ascended 
the  noble  stairway  between  ranks  of  gorgeously  attired 
guards,  who  occupied  every  step,  standing  as  motion- 
less, clasping  their  muskets,  as  if  they  were  carved 
of  marble.  The  great  stream  of  gay  life  poured, 
chattering  along  between  these  unfeeling  instruments 
of  death,  as  if  they  were  not  there.  It  is  a  trite 
reflection,  I  know,  but  it  continually  comes  up  befori 
me  here,  where  the  sound  of  the  drum  is  scarce!) 
ever  out  of  hearing,  that  men  and  women  should 
consider  this  killing  in  the  light  of  a  thing  graceful 
or  ornamental.  I  thought,  while  slowly  passing  each 
motionless  guardsman,  that  I  looked  in  the  very  face, 
at  the  very  musket  which  fired  upon  the  Boulevards 
on  the  day  of  the  Coup  d'Etat,  and  left  some  wretched 
widow  desolate.  They  were  not  so  beautiful  in  that 
light, 

I  can  not  give  you  on  paper  any  impression  of 
what  I  experienced  on    entering  the  beautiful  hall. 


216  BELI     SMITH    ABROAD. 

It  was  like  some  dream  of  fairy  land.  I  never  expect 
to  see  the  like  again.  The  same  scene  repeated 
would  not  be  the  same  thing — wanting  the  novelty. 
I  stood  for  a  second,  taking  at  a  glance  the  dazzling 
lights  which  fell  upon  the  multitude  in  the  gorgeous 
dresses  of  a  by-gone  day.  Add  to  this  the  music  of 
the  first  orchestra  in  the  world,  led  by  Strauss  him- 
self, and  at  that  moment  pouring  out  one  of  his  de- 
licious waltzes,  and  you  may  appreciate  the  exhilara- 
tion that  for  a  moment  came  upon  me. 

Our  first  duty  was,  of  course,  to  be  presented  to 
the  host  and  hostess,  who  were  so  kind  and  con- 
siderate as  to  invite  us  to  their  festivities;  and, 
finding  our  minister,  Judge  Mason,  we  were  soon 
in  train  for  a  presentation.  The  Emperor  and  Em- 
press were  late  in  attendance,  or  we  should  sot  have 
been  honored  with  an  introduction.  It  seems — and 
I  give  you  for  once  some  court  gossip — that  the 
head-dressing  of  the  Empress  is  superintended  by 
the  Emperor  in  person,  and  her  majesty  never  appears 
the  second  time  in  the  same  robe.  On  this  occasion 
she  was  somewhat  disappointed,  her  dress  not  ar- 
riving in  time.  In  the  mean  while,  when  it  did  at 
last  appear,  the  Emperor  found  that  the  arrangement 
of  her  hair  did  not  suit,  and  all  had  to  be  done 
over  again.  It  is  said  that  the  Emperor  expressed 
himself  very  strongly  in  German,  French,  and  Eng- 


THE    TUILERIES.  217 

lish.  He  arrived  at  the  moment  we  did,  and  Judge 
Mason  formed  our  party  of  Americans  in  two  lines, 
down  which  the  Government  passed,  our  represent- 
ative walking  backward,  and  calling  the  names 
slowly  as  he  went  Judge  Mason  did  his  part  hand- 
somely and  well ;  but  I  must  say,  the  Emperor  went 
through  his  in  a  silent,  queer  way.  I  kept  thinking 
of  Victor  Hugo's  terrible  sentence,  "  He  has  the 
name  of  Napoleon,  and  the  talent  of  Silence."  He 
does  not  much  love  the  Americans,  and  the  Amer- 
icans see  no  love  lost  between  them. 

One  of  the  most  attractive  features  of  this  courtly 
entertainment — the  one  I  most  wished  to  look  upon, 
and  having  seen  could  scarcely  take  my  eyes  from — 

was  the  beautiful  Miss  S ,  an  English  girl,  whose 

name  rung  through  all  the  circles  of  Paris,  Sur- 
rounded by  admirers,  she  came  toward  us  with 
the  bearing  of  a  queen.  I  can  not  pretend  a  descrip- 
tion. Healy,  with  his  graceful  power,  has  left  her 
upon  canvas,  fixed  almost  in  the  same  flashing  light 
of  loveliness  with  which  she  lives.  It  is  true  my 
admiration  was  somewhat  sobered  by  remembrances 
of  one  of  our  own  belles  that  the  winter  before,  in 
Washington,  had  filled  all  hearts  with  worship.  There 
is,  however,  nothing  in  this  to  take  from  the  fas- 
cinations of  Miss  S .  The  one  is  a  true  type 

of  American  womanhood,  as  the  other  is  of  English. 

10 


218  BELL    SMITH    ABKOAD. 

But  it  is  curious  how  near  great  beauty  brings  widely 
differing  tilings.  The  republican  girl  created  the 
same  effect  as  I  saw  this  belle  at  the  Tuileries,  sur- 
rounded by  a  world  that  lives  on  titles. 

I  was  struck  by  the  attention  paid  Baron  Iliibuer, 
the  Austrian  Minister.  The  Emperor  promenaded 
with  him — the  Empress  danced  with  him — and  look 
for  the  gentleman  any  moment  during  the  night, 
you  saw  him  surrounded  by  ministers  or  magnates 
in  the  interest  of  France  and  England.  This  arose 
from  the  position  of  his  country  in  the  great 
European  drama — the  fact  that  he  was  recognized 
as  a  friend  of  the  allies,  and,  in  addition,  was  a 
man  o,f  undoubted  ability.  This  last  is  unquestiona- 
bly true.  He  comes  from  nothing — it  is  a  matter 
of  extreme  doubt  whether  the  Baron  could  say, 
or  remember,  who  were  his  parents,  so  unimportant 
were  they — yet,  in  a  country  vrhere  birth  counts  so 
much,  the  Baron  had  risen  to  wealth  and  position. 

It  is  the  policy  of  his  government  to  have  him 
the  warm  friend  of  the  allies.  Some,  however,  have 
no  faith  in  his  sincerity.  Certainly,  it  is  true  that 
his  visit  to  Vienna,  to  congratulate  the  Emperor 
on  his  marriage,  was  followed  by  a  treaty  with 
the  Porte,  and  the  Austrian  occupation  of  the  Prin- 
cipalities. But  then,  no  war  came  of  it;  which, 
however,  may  not  be  Hubuer's  fault. 


THE    TUILERIES.  219 

He  is  not  an  interesting  man  to  look  at — slender, 
homely,  and  awkward,  as  I  found  him.  But  great 
physical  beauty  never  accompanies  diplomatic  talent 
— and  Baron  Hiibuer  is  not  alone  in  this. 

Judge  Mason  was  much  commented  upon,  for 
the  severe  simplicity  of  his  costume.  Although  cut 
in  what  is  called  court  costume,  it  was  without 
embroidery,  or  ornament  of  any  kind. 

It  is  singular  to  read  at  home  the  severe  com- 
ments of  some  of  the  press  upon  this  gentleman, 
and  know  how  unjust  they  are.  I  presume  our 
administration  does  not  seek  to  control  the  social 
conduct  of  the  minister ;  and  socially,  it  is  customa- 
ry, when  a  minister  or  any  official  is  invited  to 
a  dinner,  or  assembly,  to  wear  some  mark  of  his 
position.  If  he  dislikes  to  do  this,  he  can  remain 
at  home ;  but  if  he  attends,  let  him  respect  the 
wishes  of  his  host.  It  is  very  democratic  to  go  a 
la  Mose,  but  a  gentleman  appearing  with  his  coat 
on  arm,  and  hat  on  head,  at  an  evening  assembly, 
would  not  be  very  polite  or  respectful,  to  say  the 
least.  Judge  Mason,  as  representative  of  our  gov- 
^ernment,  was  presented  in  citizen's  dress,  and,  as 
minister,  is  always  seen  in  that  garb.  But,  at 
parties  and  dinners,  custom  has  settled  the  fact, 
that  he  must  appear  a  la  Franklin. 

By-the-bye,  there    is  quite   an  error  at    home  as 


220  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

to  Franklin's  court  suit.  We  are  under  the  im- 
pression that  this  good  old  man,  while  represent- 
ing our  country  at  this  court,  wore  the  everj-day 
dress  of  an  American  citizen.  Such  is  not  the  fact. 
Mr.  Soule  wears  at  Madrid  the  style  of  dress 
worn  by  Franklin,  and  it  was  not  then,  any  more 
than  now,  the  every-day  wear  of  our  citizens.  The 
truth  is,  the  old  mairs  mind  was  on  more  im- 
portant matters  than  the  cut  of  his  coat.  While 
he  dealt  with  the  destinies  of  nations,  he  left  the 
consideration  of  dress  to  lesser  intellects. 

I  soon  wearied  of  lights  and  music  and  the  un- 
meaning crowd,  differing  in  no  respect  from  the 
thousands  and  thousands  which  have  flitted  through 
these  same  halls.  I  looked  around  in  vain  for 
one  person  whose  name  could  serve  to  hold  it  in 
memory.  Lamartine,  Victor  Hugo,  Sue,  Dumas, 
Lamennais — 

"The  kings  of  thought,  who  wage  contention  with  their  time's  decay, 
And  of  the  past,  are  all  which  will  not  pass  away." 

We   returned,  wearied,  to    our    little    apartments, 
about  two  o'clock,  A.  M.,  and  I  fell  asleep  to  dream^ 
of  dancing  at  a  soiree  of  Secretary  C ,  in  Wash- 
ington, with  the   Emperor,  while   our  vis-a-vis   waa 
the   Empress   and  the   razor-strop  man. 


XVIII. 


Jarftin 


PR  ING  comes, 
warm  and  sunny, 
full  of  soft  re- 
proaches upon  the 
late  severe  winter, 
and  the  clear  at- 
mosphere of  Paris  f|BUrFO"N 


222  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

seems  buoyant  with  life.  I  bad  been  standing  in  the 
warm  sun-light  at  the  window,  looking  upon  Place  St. 
Sulpice  for  almost  the  last  time  as  a  resident,  for  in 
a  few  days  we  were  to  leave  our  winter  quarters,  or 
home,  for  over  three  months;  and  soon  the  huge 
fountain  would  splash,  and  the  crowd  jostle,  the 
little  dwarf  pound  IMS  little  table,  and  shout  "  ex- 
hibition extraordinaire,"  for  other  eyes,  for  other 
ears.  We  may  remove  from  our  temporary  homes, 
and  yet  we  seem  to  leave  part  of  ourselves  behind. 
The  chambers  wherein  we  have  been  glad,  or  suf- 
fered, the  doors  which  have  opened  for  us  or 
friends,  the  windows  that  have  given  us  light,  the 
fire-places  that  have  smiled  upon  us,  seem  to  liave 
become  part  of  ourselves;  and,  after  a  long  ab- 
sence, when  we  return,  they  seem  to  smile  a  re- 
proach, and  have  unspoken  welcomes.  I  think  all 
the  while  of  my  successors  as  interlopers,  having 
no  rights,  and  finding  things  very  strange. 

A  sunny  morning,  and  St.  Sulpice  as  merry  as 
if  suffering  had  never  existed.  All  is  noise,  and 
apparent  confusion.  From  and  into  the  ancient 
and  narrow  street  of  Vieux  Colombier,  at  my  right, 
the  crowds  jostle  and  throng.  Here  comes  "an  in- 
stitution," as  -Mr.  Breslin  would  say,  peculiar  to 
France — a  cart  drawn  by  a  miniature  donkey.  How 
the  shafts  rest  upon  the  back  of  the  diminutive 


JARDIN     DBS    PLANTES.  223 

< 

creature — how  the  body  of  the  vehicle  towers  up 
two  or  three  stories  high,  with  an  old  ladj  at 
top,  who  seems  to  be  exhibiting  a  dexterous  balanc- 
ing to  keep  her  place,  are  points  a  painter  alone 
can  do  justice  to.  But  there  are  times — critical 
periods — when  the  balancing  comes  to  an  end,  and 
the  ancient  lady  makes  the  same  discovery  in  her- 
self that  Sir  Isaac  Newton  did  with  the  apple. 
This  in  an  instance:  The  streets  are  slippery,  and 
donkey  fatigued — he  stumbles,  he  falls.  The  mis- 
cellaneous load  of  straw,  boxes,  coops,  and  old 
lady,  tumble  upon  him — the  last,  as  the  French 
say,  somewhat  "  bouleversed."  The  ancient  dame 
picks  herself  up — she  picks  up  her  assortment  of 
wares,  she  tries  to  pick  up  the  donkey;  but  that 
animal,  deaf  t»  the  chick-like  persuasion  to  an  ef- 
fort administered  in  a  kick,  is  evidently  disgusted 
with  the  whole  affair,  and  declines  moving.  As  D. 
says,  he  is  a  conservative — a  specimen  of  "masterly 
inactivity" — in  fact,  a  donkey.  He  is  evidently  "a 
donkey  wot  won't  go ;"  and  in  the  mean  while  an 
omnibus,  which  nearly  runs  over  them,  can  not 
get  by — a  stone-cart  has  wound  five  horses  tandem 
round  the  omnibus,  a  carriage  follows  the  stone 
wagon,  and  far  down  the  street — further  than  we 
can  see — vehicles  are  crowding  into  the  difficulty. 
All  the  drivers,  passengers,  and  even  spectators, 


224  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

scold,  swear,  and  shout,  at  the  donkey;  but  he  re- 
fuses to  budge ;  like  many  other  donkeys  in  this 
world,  he  suddenly  finds  himself  famous  by  the 
force  of  position  alone,  and  rather  likes  it.  The 
thing  is  getting  to  be  serious,  and  may  end  in  a 
barricade,  yet.  But  here  comes  two  of  a  body  who 
solve  all  troubles  in  Paris — two  policemen.  They 
seize  Mr.  Donkey,  and  fairly  lift  him  to  his  feet  ; 
but  he  refuses  the  proffered  aid,  and  tumbles  again. 
The  police  deliberate — they  procure  a  board,  and, 
putting  it  under  the  refractory  animal,  carry  him 
to  the  side-walk ;  the  cart  is  pulled  away,  and  the 
street  is  cleared.  Fifteen  minutes  after,  I  saw 
donkey  trot  away,  pulling  the  little  old  woman 
and  her  wares — the  world  of  Vieux  Colombier  went 
on — the  donkey  had  lost  his  position. 

The  day  was  too  beautiful,  after  our  long  winter 
of  fogs  and  cold,  to  think  of  remaining  in-doors, 
and  I  readily  accepted  an  invitation  from  Madame 
L.,  to  visit  with  her  the  Jardin  des  Plantes.  I 
stipulated  that  we  should  go  in  an  omnibus.  I 
felt  some  curiosity  to  know  the  interior  of  these 
huge,  lumbering  affairs,  that  seem  for  ever,  night 
and  day,  to  be  rolling  along  the  streets.  Madame 
L.  telegraphed  one  that  she  designated  as  the  proper 
line  to  carry  us  to  our  journey's  end.  The  con- 
ductor, in  uniform,  standing  upon  the  steps;  politely 


J9LRDIN    DES    PLANTES. 

help  to  seats  Madame  L.,  Lucy,  myself,  and  the 
dog ;  for  my  friend,  like  a  true  Frenchwoman, 
never  is  seen  separated  from  Pierre.  We  were 
comfortably  placed  omnibus-fashion,  but  with  each 
seat  separated  by  iron  arms,  for  -which  we  paid  six 
sous  apiece,  and  received  in  return  a  slip  of  paper 
called  a  correspondence,  which  entitles  us  to  places 
in  the  next  omnibus  when  this  one  left  the  direct 
line.  In  this  way,  one  can  ride  quite  over  Paris, 
if  you  understand  the  correspondence,  and  don't  go 
on  a  rainy  day. 

I  was  in  my  habitude,  looking  at  my  fellow- 
passengers  inquiringly,  and  making  up  in  my  own 
mind  each  one's  pursuit  and  immediate  business, 
when  a  comely  dame  of  thirty,  or  thereabouts,  sud- 
denly bursting  into  tears,  seized  Pierre,  and  pressed 
him  to  her  heart.  Madame  L.  considered  Pierre 
quite  attractive  enough  to  cause  this  burst  of  feel 
ing.  I  looked  at  it  as  a  French  demonstration; 
but  Lucy  opened  her  large  eyes  like  a  startled 
fawn.  After  a  few  sobs,  kisses,  and  convulsive 
hugs,  the  lady  recovered  sufficiently  to  say  that 
she,  too,  once  had  a  Pierre — now,  alas,  no  more. 
But,  to  understand  her  story,  it  is  necessary  to  go 
back  two  years  in  the  history  of  canine  life  in 
Paris,  and  record  a  few  facts. 

At  the  period  I  mention,  dogs  were,  if  possible, 
10* 


226  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

more  the  rage  than  now — to  be  without  a  dog  was 
to  be  without  a  luxury.  Well,  in  the  midst  of 
this,  one  summer  afternoon  a  gentleman,  with  his 
family,  walking  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  saw,  cower- 
ing under  some  bushes,  a  beautiful  little  white  lap- 
dog.  He  seized  the  wanderer  as  a  prize,  not,  how- 
ever, until  after  a  bite  in  the  hand,  which  he  at- 
tributed to  spirit,  and  liked  the  little  fellow  all  the 
better.  The  strange  pet,  with  some  difficulty,  was 
taken  home  and  snugly  housed,  with  collar  and 
string  to  hold  him  secure.  But  he  made  an  ill 
return  for  such  kindness — he  was  sullen,  uneasy, 
bit  every  one  who  attempted  to  caress  him,  and 
altogether  was  a  bad  subject.  In  a  few  days, "he 
became  worse — refused  to  eat,  his  eyes  looked  in- 
flamed, and  were  at  times  glaring  and  frightful, 
while  his  howls  and  cries  were  terrible  to  hear. 
One  morning,  the  children  found  the  cord  gnawed 
asunder,  and  their  pet  gone.  The  beautiful  pet  was 
gone,  but  his  evil  remained.  In  a  short  time,  the 
horrible  symptoms  of  hydrophobia  manifested  them- 
selves, and  grew  more  and  more  positive,  until,  in 
frightful  agony,  two  children  and  the  mother  died. 
Paris,  with  its  hundred  thousand  dogs,  was  thrown 
into  a  panic.  The  government  took  up  the  affair 
— the  police  was  put  to  work,  with  orders  to  kill 
all  that  came  in  their  way,  by  poison,  shot,  or 


JARDIN    DBS    PLANTES.  227 

steel.  In .  less  than  a  week,  over  twenty  thousand 
dogs  fell  before  this  government  epidemic. 

During  this  war  of  extermination,  our  fair  un- 
known was  passing  through  the  gardens  of  the 
Tuileries,  with  Pug  at  her  side,  secured  by  a  cord. 
Pug,  unaccustomed  to  such  durance,  resisted,  with 
frequent  cries  of  indignation,  and  she  had  almost 
to  drag  him  continually.  At  last,  the  resistance  be- 
came absurd — our  unknown  was  busily  conversing 
with  a  friend,  and  interlarding  her  discourse  with 
frequent  appeals  to  Pug,  begging  him  to  come  on. 
At  last,  she  looked  round — her  pet,  her  love,  her 
life,  was  on  his  back,  with  four  paws  raised 
piteously  to  heaven.  He  was  bathed  in  blood ;  in- 
deed,, life  was  extinct.  The  mystery  was  solved  in 
discovering  that,  while  passing  a  sentry,  he  had 
taken  occasion  to  use  his  bayonet  on  the  reluctant 
favorite,  and,  to  the  great  amusement  of  quite  a 
crowd,  for  some  distance  she  had  been  dragging 
a  dead  dog.  This  was  why  fond  memory  brought 
back  the  feeling,  when  she  looked  on  the  departed's 
like  again.  Tears,  sobs,  and  a  broken  heart  for 
thy  cruel  death,  oh !  reluctant  Pug ! 

We  found  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  thronged  with 
women  and  children.  The  sun  warmed  them  into 
merry  life.  Our  first  visit  was  to  the  animals. 
Madame  L.  called  on  an  old  acquaintance.  During 


228  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

her  husband's  life,  they  had  been  connected  with 
the  army  in  Africa;  and  while  domiciled  in  gar- 
rison, one  of  the  officers  purchased  a  cub-lion, 
which  was  permitted  to  run  at  large  in  the  court. 
The  inimal,  under  the  generous  diet  of  his  masters, 
grew  to  an  enormous  size,  and,  from  continual 
kind  treatment,  was  quiet  and  good-natured  as  a 
house-dog.  The  women  petted  him,  the  children 
played  with  him.  He  grew  to  such  magnitude 
and  beauty,  that  the  officers  determined  to  present 
him  to  the  French  Government.  His  lionship  em- 
barked accordingly.  During  his  voyage,  his  temper 
was  much  injured  by  the  vexations  incident  to  the 
sea ;  but,  on  his  arrival  in  Paris  and  introduction  to  a 
narrow  cage,  his  nature  seemed  to  change,  and  he 
became  as  ungovernable  as  before  he  had  been 
docile.  We  found  him  sufficiently  quiet,  reposing 
with  that  wonderful  head  resting  between  his  huge 
paws.  Madame  L.  spoke  to  him,  and,  lifting  his 
head,  he  opened  the  large  yellow  eyes  slowly  and 
sleepily,  but  with  no  look  of  recognition.  Lions 
have  bad  memories,  and  this  was  not  the  first  to 
forget  the  hand  which  once  nourished  his  lordship. 
I  can't  help  dropping,  now  and  then,  one  of  these 
profound  remarks — it  gives  one  such  an  air  of  wis- 
dom. 

I  wanted    to    remain    hours   with    these    terribly 


JARDIN    DBS    PLANTES.  229 

beautiful  creatures,  but  our  conductor  expected  some 
sous  at  the  last  door,  and  got  to  it  as  soon  as  be 
could.  A  man  passed  us,  throwing  pieces  of  beef 
into  the  cages,  and  I  enjoyed  greatly  the  rapid 
way  in  which  they  disposed  of  their  provender; 
but  they  grumbled  all  the  while — like  old  fellows 
at  a  hotel.  If  I  could  believe  one  hyena,  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  much  better  living  at  home, 
and  was  being  put  upon  most  abominably  in  this 
place.  Honest  old  Bruin,  alone,  made  no  com- 
plaint; in  fact,  seemed  to  be  thanking  Providence, 
inwardly,  he  ate  with  such  gusto. 

In  many  of  the  cages  were  little  dogs,  placed 
there,  the  conductor  informed  us,  to  keep  the  ani- 
mals company.  The  effect  might  be  pleasant  to 
the  wild  beasts,  but  the  poor  dogs  seemed  to  be 
sadly  ennuied,  and  begged  us  piteously  to  be  taken 
into  better  society.  We  found  quite  a  crowd  col- 
lected around  the  pleasant  residence  of  a  huge 
monkey,  who  seemed  to  be  aware  of  his  attrac- 
tions, for  he  kept  up  a  continuous  chattering, 
climbing  and  tumbling  about  his  large  glass  house. 
I  contrasted  this  large,  comfortable  apartment,  with 
the  narrow  cages  of  lions  and  tigers,  and  indulged 
in  another  wise  reflection,  to  the  extent  that 
monkeys  have  always  the  best  places  in  this 
world. 


230  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

The  exhibition  was  too  near  humanity  to  be 
pleasant,  so  we  made  our  way  to  the  residence  of 
the  great  attraction  of  the  gardens,  the  hippopota- 
mus. "We  found  the  star  enjoying  a  bath  ;  indeed, 
very  little  of  his  time  is  passed  otherwise.  We 
could  see  nothing  but  a  black  muzzle  above  the 
water,  that  seemed  to  be  the  mouth  of  some  ani- 
mal terribly  bored,  for  it  indulged  in  a  continuous 
succession  of  yawns,  really  striking.  I  never  saw 
— 's  book  produce  more  extensive  demonstrations. 
We  waited  in  vain  for  this  beast  to  come  out  of 
the  water,  and  exhibit,  At  last,  to  bring  about 
this  result,  I  purchased  one  of  those  singular  com- 
pounds sold  in  such  places,  and  called  cakes,  al- 
though they  eat  as  if  made  of  putty  and  flavored 
with  castor  oil.  This  I  threw  in;  the  bait  took — 
the  beast,  getting  his  head  out  of  the  water, 
gobbled  up  the  morsel ;  the  effect  t-Xvas  startling. 
Whether  he  was  disgusted  with  the  refreshment, 
or  really  choking,  I  can  not  say ;  but  immediately 
a  terrible  commotion  in  the  water,  and  the  mouth 
gave  great  evidence  of  being  in  want  of  breath. 
To  choke  the  hippopotamus  to  death  was  a  feat  I  by 
no  manner  of  means  proposed  being  distinguished  for ; 
and  the  manifestations  continuing,  we  all  took  to 
flight.  Turning  a  corner  suddenly,  we  nearly  fell 
into  a  pen  of  bears,  which  were  in  an  admirable 


JARDIN    DBS    PLANTES.  231 

mood  for  the  reception  of  visitors — an  Englishman 
having  just  been  amusing  himself  with  punching 
the  solemn  gentleman  from  the  north  in  the  back 
with  his  cane- 

This  collection  of  animated  nature  sustains  no 
comparison  to  that  in  London.  This  part  of  the 
garden  has  been  sadly  neglected — indeed,  during 
several  popular  disturbances  the  poor  creatures  were 
left  to  starve.  But  no  collection  can  surpass  that 
exhibited  in  the  Gallery  of  Zoology,  or  the  Cabi- 
net of  Comparative  Anatomy,  arranged  by  Baron 
Cuvier.  As  I  walked  through  these  great  halls, 
with  mind  confused,  almost,  by  the  vast  throng  of 
specimens  on  every  side,  I  thought  of  the  Patent 
Office  and  Smithsonian  Institution  at  Washington, 
and  could  not  help  saying,  "  Poor  home !  How 
far  we  are  behind  the  old  world  in  some  things." 
D.  and  Doctor  Bob,  who  had  joined  us  in  the 
garden,  paused  before  the  skeleton  of  a  full -breast- 
ed, heavy -boned  Englishman.  "If,"  said  Doctor 
Bob,  "some  of  our  worthies  would  take  from  their 
resting  place  half  a  dozen  pilgrim  fathers,  and  set 
up  their  bones  by  the  side  of  as  many  of  their 
descendants  of  yesterday,  we  would  find  the  heavy, 
strong,  large-lunged  animal  of  England  had  in  our 
dry  climate  degenerated  into  a  thin,  weak,  con- 
sumptive Yankee.  The  study  would  be  more  prof- 


232  BELL    SMITH    ABKOAD. 

liable  than  the  contemplation  of  Gen.  W.'s  cast-off 
clothes. 

"How  would  the  skulls  compare?"  I  asked. 

"I  think,"  said  I).,  "that  Webster's,  Clay's,  and 
Hawthorne's,  would  show  decided  improvement." 


XIX. 


H  B  deli- 
cious spring 
weather  tempt- 
ed us  out,  and 
with  a  merry 
party,  made  up 
of  Dr.  Bob  and 
friend,  Lucy, 
Mr.  H.,  and 
myself,  we  set 
off  per  railroad 
for  Fontaine- 


what  words  can  put  on  paper  the  exhilaration  the  warm, 
sunny  breathings  of  the  green  earth  gave  us,  as  we  flew 
along  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  and  over  the  hazy-tinted 
level  of  the  country  about  Paris  —  the  modern  Athens, 
with  its  crowded  streets,  where  towering  houses 
shut  in  the  foul,  foggy  air,  where  a  winter  unusually 


234  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

severe  had  shivered,  weary  days  and  nights  had 
educated  us  to  a  proper  enjoyment  of  the  budding 
spring.  All  the  sunny  past  came  up — came  up  the 
sparkling  wine-cups,  golden  fruit,  song  and  dance. 
The  railroad,  with  its  quick,  iron  ring,  seemed  send 
ing  us  from  the  hard,  suffering  present,  into  the  joy- 
ous land  of  romance.  To  such  enjoyment  one  must 
have  a  preface,  and  mine  had  been  days  and  months 
of  anxiety,  care,  and  physical  suffering.  The  absence 
of  these  sufficed  to  make  one  content ;  but  kind, 
full-hearted  nature  soothed  me  like  a  tired  child. 
Yet  more — the  country  I  looked  upon  had  many 
features  in  common  with  the  Mac-a-cheek  plains^ 
where  surly  winter  yet  lingers  and  my  mind  took 
up  the  saddest  and  merriest  days  of  life,  to  blend 
them  in  the  present.  I  laughed,  I  cried,  I  clapped 
my  hands  like  a  girl ;  and  the  good  heart.0  with  me 
took  up  the  feeling,  and  we  sang  "Home,  sweet, 
sweet  home,"  in  a  style  beyond  the  reach  of  Jenny 
Lind. 

Arriving  in  Fontainebleau,  we  scorned,  like  true 
originals,  the  fashionable  hotel,  and  put  up  at  a 
snowy,  quiet  little  inn,  with  brick  floors  and  crooked 
stairs,  all  flavored  considerably  of  the  days  of  old. 
My  huge  room,  with  little  bed  in  one  corner,  with 
queer,  antiquated  furniture,  had  a  balcony  under 
the  window;  and,  while  sitting  on  this,  had  I  seen 


FONTAINEBLEAU.  235 

Don  Quixote  and  Sancho  Panza,  mounted  on  Roz- 
inante  and  Dapple,  ride  down  the  narrow,  silent- 
street,  I  should  not  have  been  at  all  surprised.  The 
frame-work  of  that  golden  picture  is  yet  there,  to 
keep  in  countenance  the  personages,  should  they 
again  appear. 

One  day  was  too  much  like  the  other  for  a  record. 
You  know  how  I  despise  accounts  of  inanimate 
things,  and,  for  further  particulars  of  castle  and  con- 
tents, I  must  refer  you  to  the  proper  work,  to  be 
had  on  the  ground,  and  which  commences  in  this 
true  Niagara-guide-book  style:  "Oh!  you  who,  to 
discover  and  admire  the  capricious  marvels  of  the 
world,  traverse  the  earth  and  brave  the  seas,  come 
to  Fontainebleau."  The  fact  is,  we  acted  more  like 
children  turned  loose  from  school,  than  people  who 
had  "  traversed  the  earth  and  braved  the  seas"  to 
come  to  Fontainebleau.  We  wandered  through  the 
woods,  having  been  long  enough  from  the  forests 
of  our  native  land  to  respect  any  sort  of  attempt 
in  that  line.  We  rowed  to  and  fro  upon  the  long 
canal ;  we  invaded  the  sanctuary  of  the  swans,  upon 
the  island  in  the  centre  of  their  lake,  where  Napoleon 
retired  to  consult  upon  the  somewhat  serious  proposal 
of  a  resignation ;  we  sang  "  Hail  Columbia"  and  the 
"  Star-spangled  Banner ;"  we  lunched  in  the  mag- 
nificent "  Salle  des  Gardes;"  recited  in  the  little 


236  BELL     SMITH    ABEOAD. 

theater  built  for  Madame  de  la  Pompadour ;  and 
at  last  sat  Dr.  Bob  upon  the  throne  in  the  grand 
throne  room,  and  went  through  a  mock  presentation 
with  more  fun  than  dignity.  Indeed,  the  mock 
sovereign,  with  a  cap  turned  up  in  front  for  a  crown, 
and  with  our  trains  improvised  from  shawls,  cloaks, 
and  table-covers,  were  too  ridiculous  for  dignity. 
It  is  to  be  hoped  the  matter  is  better  done  when 
played  on  a  grander  scale  ;  but,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  fell  over  my  train,  while  Lucy  and  Miss  E.  fairly 
wheeled  round,  shocking  etiquette  by  so  marching 
out. 

No  one  must  suppose  for  a  moment  that  this  is 
the  ordinary  style  of  seeing  Fontainebleau.  By  no 
manner  of  means.  We  are  fortunate  in  being  the 
friends  of  Mr.  K.,  the  architect,  now  engaged  in  build- 
ing for  Louis  Napoleon  a  theater,  on  a  more  extensive 
scale  than  that  of  the  little  one  constructed  for  Ma- 
dame de  la  Pompadour,  and  with  which  Napoleon 
and  Josephine  were  so  delighted.  Our  friend  kindly 
gave  us  the  keys,  and  unlimited  freedom,  and  we 
treated  Fontainebleau  in  a  very  familiar,  easy  man- 
ner. D.,  who  came  for  us  a  week  after,  and  was 
admitted  on  the  day  appropriated  to  the  public,  says 
he  was  taken  through  at  the  rate  of  "  sixty  miles 
an  hour,"  and  actually  made  sea-sick  in  a  winding 
stairway. 


FONTAINEBLEAU.  237 

I  expect  you  will  be  provoked  with  me,  for  the 
hundredth  time,  for  not  giving  you  some  solid  in- 
formation on  what  I  have  seen  and  heard.  But  I 
tax  my  memory  in  vain — I  can  recollect  nothing  I 
felt  impressed  by,  save  the  long  suite  of  gorgeous 
apartments  in  which  his  Holiness,  Pope  Pius  VII., 
was  imprisoned  for  nearly  two  years.  I  could  al- 
most see  the  old  man  slowly  pacing  over  the  pol- 
ished floors,  coming  to  meet  his  jailer,  the  man  of 
destiny;  and,  relatively,  it  seemed  at  the  moment 
a  contrast  of  strength  and  weakness.  But  in  an 
adjoining  chamber  is  preserved  the  little  table  on 
which  his  destiny,  accomplished,  was  signed — his 
abdication,  which  made  the  vast  empire  vanish  like 
a  dream !  Let  no  one  pass  without  regarding  well 
this  relic — the  marks  of  the  penknife,  which,  while 
he  deliberated,  he  impatiently  and  abstractedly  struck 
into  its  surface.  The  history  left  in  this,  upon  the 
little  table,  tells  more  of  the  man  than  volumes  of 
biography.  From  all  the  material  things,  I  turned 
continually,  as  I  walked,  day  after  day,  through  the 
long  halls  and  silent  chambers,  to  the  unseen  life 
my  imagination  gave  birth  to.  Queens  of  a  by-gone 
day  rustled  in  brocades  past  me;  the  brave,  rude 
men,  poets  and  artists,  were  around  me  continually. 
I  could  see  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  listening  in  de- 
light to  his  own  play,  badly  performed,  because  weak 


238  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

royalty  smiled  upon  him.  I  could  see  Voltaire  sneer- 
ing at  the  royalty  that  presumed  to  smile  on  him. 
If  spirits  no  longer  of  this  world,  yet  retaining  the 
feelings  born  in  their  brief  career,  could  control 
material  things,  these  grand  old  rooms  would  no 
longer  be  silent — to  some,  doors  would  open,  and 
sweet  music  greet  their  entrance ;  to  others,  these 
doors  would  shut,  and  chairs,  tables,  and  even  altar- 
candlesticks,  become  means  of  offence. 

Who  is  it  that  says  that  they  who  have  given 
themselves  up  to  vile  pursuits  on  earth,  and  do  bad 
deeds,  will  follow  the  same  path,  and  re-enact 
again  and  again  for  ever  their  evil  actions?  I  am 
inclined  to  believe  such  dreams,  and  received  from 

Monsieur   K ,    the   architect,   in   illustration,  the 

following  narration  of  a  night  within  the  unseen  life 
of  Fontainebleau,  with  decided  belief: 

"  PHANTOMS. 

"  After  the  destruction  of  the  roof  and  part  of  the 

walls,  the  death  of called  me  to  Paris,  where  I 

remained  some  weeks,  during  which  our  work  was 
suspended.  I  returned  at  the  end  of  that  time, 
however,  with  the  necessary  orders  to  continue  the 
new  theater.  I  left  in  the  afternoon  train,  and  ar- 
rived in  one  of  the  ugliest  winter  storms  to  be  Avit- 
nessed  in  France.  After  a  hearty  dinner  at  the  hotel, 


FONTAINEBLEAU.  239 

and  sleepy  readings,  bj  nods,  of  the  day's  papers, 
I  at  last  gathered  up  my  little  baggage,  and  wended 
my  way  to  the  snuggery  which  I  had  appropriated 
in  the  palace  as  a  sleeping  apartment.  I  passed 
the  sentries,  muffled  in  their  cloaks  and  crouching 
closely  to  their  boxes,  and  almost  stopped  in  the 
grand  court  where  so  many  events  have  been 
enacted.  I  could  see  the  dim  outline  of  the  palace 
— I  could  almost  recognize  the  circular  stairway 
which  so  many  kings,  queens,  courtiers,  statesmen, 
beauties,  and  generals,  had  traversed,  and  dowc 
which  Napoleon  came  to  embrace  in  a  last  adieu 
his  Old  Guard.  As  I  hesitated  for  a  second,  staring 
into  the  wild  night,  the  old  clock  above  the  doorway 
tolled  out  the  hour  of  ten.  It  was  indeed  the  voice 
of  time,  tolling  its  ghostly  summons  into  the  drowsy 
ear  of  night.  I  pulled  my  cloak  closer  about  me, 
and  sought  my  little  room. 

"  To  my  great  horror,  I  found,  from  some  inter- 
ference by  our  workmen  with  the  roof,  the  continued 
rain  and  snow  of  the  past  week  had  found  their 
way  in,  and  my  room  was  any  thing  but  habitable. 
I  had  to  find  other  quarters,  and  the  idea  of  wander- 
ing through  the  vast  chateau  in  search  of  a  resting- 
place  seemed  as  dreary  as  such  a  search  would  be 
through  a  deserted  town  at  midnight.  I  had  no 
help  for  it,  however.  So,  descending  to  the  lodge, 


BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

I  scoured  the  services  of  old  Marie  and  tvro  men, 
and  we  set  off  in  our  search  for  a  sleeping-room. 
I  knew  the  most  inhabitable,  at  least  the  most 

comfortable,  were  those  of  the  Princess ,  known 

as  Madame  de  la  Pompadour's,  and  thither  I  con- 
veyed my  escort.  Here  three  rooms  are  almost 
thrown  into  one,  being  separated  at  the  doorways 
only  by  the  heavy  tapestry.  The  smaller,  the  bed- 
room, is  a  perfect  gem.  The  floor  is  covered  with 
a  carpet,  in  which  the  foot  sinks  noiselessly ;  the 
walls  are  hung  with  the  finest  satin;  the  furniture, 
of  costly  woods,  is  reflected  in  tall  mirrors,  and 
set  off  by  rare  paintings,  every  one  of  which  is  worth 
a  journey  to  look  upon. 

"  Madame  Marie  soon  arranged  the  huge  bed,  and 
ordered  the  men  to  light  the  pile  of  wood  in  the 
fire-place  of  the  larger  room.  The  smoke,  for  a 
while,  rolled  heavily  into  the  apartment,  but  as 
the  heat  gathered  force,  took  the  proper  direction, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  I  had  a  capital  fire.  Left  to 
myself,  I  drew  an  arm-chair  from  its  place,  and 
for  more  than  an  hour  sat  looking  into  the  sputtering 
fire,  and  listening  to  the  storm  rattling  and  beating  upon 
the  windows.  Drowsy  at  last,  I  stole  to  my  strange 
bed — so  strange,  that  I  soon  wakened  to  a  sense 
of  restlessness,  to  me  unaccountable.  I  could  not 
get  to  sleep,  but  turned  and  turned  for  hours,  listen- 


FONTAINEBLEAU.  241 

ing  to  the  furious  storm,  or  looking  at  the  fire. 
At  last  the  blaze  went  down,  and  shadows,  more 
and  more  gloomy,  seemed  to  dance  upon  the  goblin- 
tapestry  in  the  adjoining  chamber,  into  which  I 
looked,  giving  a  sort  of  life  to  the  vivid  figures. 
I  could,  between  sleeping  and  waking,  almost  see 
the  figures  move.  In  vain  I  attempted  to  sleep ; 
the  drowsy  god  forsook  my  couch  the  more  I 
courted  his  soothing  presence.  My  mind  took  up 
the  many  legends — the  many  cruel  deeds  which 
had  once  made  the  very  stones  quake  with  fright. 
I  thought  of  the  poor  man  broken  alive  upon  the 
wheel  by  Louis  the  Just,  because  a  clumsy  trick, 
harmful  to  no  one  but  himself,  had  failed.  All 
the  sudden  deaths,  and  mysterious  disappearances, 
would  throng  my  brain.  I  saw  the  jealous  and  infu- 
riated Christine  of  Sweden  approach  Monaldeschi, 
in  the  dim  and  ghostly  *  gallery  of  Cerfs,'  and  de- 
mand the  authorship  of  certain  letters  to  a  fair 
Italian.  I  saw  her  beckon  the  two  assassins  and 
the  priest;  I  heard  again  the  supplications  for  life 
— the  strange  absolution;  I  saw  the  murderous  at- 
tack upon  the  unarmed  man,  who,  clad  in  coat  of 
mail,  resisted  with  his  hands,  until  face  and  hands 
were  cut  to  -pieces,  and,  a  frightful  spectacle,  he 
blindly  fled  from  his  assassins,  vainly  crying  for 

mercy — until  he  fell,  dying  by  inches. 

11 


242  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

"  I  could  not  clear  my  brain  of  this  stuff,  while 
the  storm  dashed  itself  against  the  ; huge  windows; 
the  fire  gradually  burned  down,  until  the  room 
became  more  dim,  and  long  shadows  began  to  play 
upon  the  goblin  tapestry,  as  if  the  figures,  en- 
dowed with  life,  were  flitting  by  and  at  each  other. 
I  would  drop  into  a  doze,  and  start  out  again,  as 
if  upon  the  watch,  with  a  feverish  sense  of  un- 
easiness, difficult  to  describe.  At  last,  I  became 
conscious  of  some  one  being  in  the  room — the 
larger  room  adjoining,  where  now  smoldered  the 
fire,  and  into  which  I  looked  through  the  folding, 
draped  doors.  Yes,  it  was  surely  so ;  some  one 
stood  before  the  fire.  Strange  to  say,  I  was  not 
startled,  or  alarmed — only  influenced  by  a  strange 
sense  of  awe.  I  could  not,  and  yet  I  could,  see 
distinctly ;  the  details  were  uncertain,  but  the  gen- 
eral outlines  were  there,  marking  the  fearful  man 
— for  it  was  indeed  him.  I  saw  the  cocked  hat — • 
I  could  almost  see  the  clear,  coljl  face — the  over- 
coat, the  hands  folded  behind  his  back.  Yes,  he 
stood  before  that  fire,  as  he  had  stood  before  the 
most  fearful  camp-fires  of  Europe. 

"  "While  I  gazed,  spell-bound,  upon  this  apparition, 
another  started  into  existence,  from,  I  thought,  the 
very  tapestry,  at  the  further  end  of  the  room ;  and 
it  slowly,  and  with  kingly  stateliness,  stalked  across 


FONTAINEBLEAU.  243 

the  floor,  a  gigantic  figure,  dressed  in  the  costume 
of  another  age;  and,  as  it  turned  its  face  slowly 
as  it  advanced  toward  the  fire-place,  I  saw  the 
straight  line  from  the  forehead  to  the  end  of  the 
nose,  which  markes  so  decidedly  his  portrait  in 
the  Louvre. 

"On  he  walks,  turning  his  head  with  a  stare  of 
surprise,  until  he  melts  into  the  heavy  gloom 
gathered  at  the  further  end  of  the  apartment.  And 
now  come  two  others — the  one  f?u-  and  beautiful 
as  a  summer's  day,  her  long,  silkcv,  auburn  locks 
falling  over,  and  almost  hiding  the  lustrous  blue 
eyes;  the  other,  dark  as  night.  Ttx^y,  too,  glide 
on  and  disappear,  to  be  followed  by  one  unlike  all 
Others.  "What  a  fierce,  stern  woman !  wtu>l  ^,  cruel, 
cold  eye !  She,  too,  the  mother  of  kings  pisses 
on,  glaring  'in  hatred  at  the  motionless  fig»i-*e  be« 
fore  the  dying  fire.  Hardly  had  the  scowling  aj:  • 
parition  disappeared,  than  another  came,  and  so,  in 
contrast,  he  seemed  an  angel  of  light;  mild,  quiet, 
passing  slowly  on.  He  gazed,  too,  in  the  same 
direction  with  the  others,  but  in  a  look  rather  of 
curious  astonishment  than  scorn  or  hatred.  His  is 
not  a  martial  tread  or  look,  yet  from  the  cap 
droops  a  long  white  feather  that  seems  to  be 
beckoning  columns  on  through  the  black,  thick 


244  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

smoke  of  battle,  while  from  his  breast  the  red  blood 
welled  out,  soiling  his  white  vest. 

"  He  is  gone,  and  after  a  pause  appear  two  shadows 
— the  one  indistinct  and  uncertain,  with  the  crown 
only  clearly  marked  and  glittering;  but  his  com- 
panion, tall,  thin,  is  distinctly  visible,  with  eagle 
eyes  and  hooked  nose  and  thin  lips.  He  smiles 
proudly  upon  the  form  which  has  disturbed  them 
all,  and,  as  he  passes  on,  a  smile  of  recognition 
seems  to  play  about  his  lips.  They,  too,  are  gone ; 
and  now  they  come,  not  one,  nor  two,  but  crowds 
of  shadowy,  kingly  things,  flitting  by  like  figures 
in  a  distempered  dream.  They  are  gone  ;  and,  while 
the  wind  seems  breathing  a  funereal  dirge,  appears 
an  old,  old  man,  bent  with  age,  who  totters  by, 
and,  without  turning  or  exhibiting  any  emotion 
other  than  grief,  disappears — the  last  of  a  royal 
line.  There  is  a  long  pause — still  the  form  before 
the  dying  fire  stands  motionless.  Will  there  be  an- 
other? I  strain  my  eyes  to  see.  The  fire  burns 
lower  and  lower;  while  the  gloom  deepens,  the 
storm  grows  loud  apace,  and  seems  to  change  into 
the  echoing  roar  of  cannon  and  wild  cries,  as  if  a 
nation  were  gathering  into  strife;  and  now  a  ter- 
rific explosion,  and  Fontainebleau  seems  falling 
about  me  in  ruins.  I  involuntarily  close  my  eyes, 
and  open  them  to  find  the  cold,  gray  light  of  a 


FONTAINEBLEAU.  24/> 

winter's  dawn  stealing  into  the  room.  My  dream 
was  ended;  the  specters  had  fled  at  the  ghost's 
summons ;  for, 

"  'The  sentinel  cock,  shrill  chanticleer, 

Had  wound  his  bugle  horn, 
And  told  the  early  villager 
The  coming  of  the  mom.' " 


XX. 


Cj|iffoiinier 


D1 


jUEING-  Lucy's  last  ill- 
ness, as  I  was  count- 
ing by  tLe  window  the 
weary  hours  as  they  wore 
slowly  away,  between 
midnight  and  morning,  I 
saw  some  figures 
with  lanterns  pass- 
ing from  side  to 
side  in  the  dark 
street,  and  frequent- 
ly pausing  as  if  in 
anxious  search.  Each  had  his  light  and  stick, 
and  as  this  light  shone  below,  the  back  seemed 
rounded  into  a  huge  deformity,  as  if  hump-backed. 
But,  on  looking  closer,  I  saw  that  hump  was  a 
basket,  and  into  this  basket  whatever  they  searched 
was  dexterously  thrown.  I  had  never  heard  of 
such  beings  as  these,  and  looked  with  intense  in* 


LE     CHIFFONNIER     DE     PARIS.  247 

terest  upon  them  as  they  glided  about  mysteriously 
and  earnestly  in  the  black,  still  life,  just  before 
dawn. 

These  were  the  chiffonniers,  or  rag-pickers,  of 
which  Paris  has  over  twenty  thousand.  A  re- 
spectable town  that  would  be  out  West — indeed, 
a  city — and  would  have  ministers,  councilmen, 
merchants  and  lawyers ;  would  have  its  aristoc- 
racy, its  exclusive  circles,  and  civil  wars.  Twen- 
ty thousand  inhabitants  would  own  a  destiny;  be 
represented  in  Congress,  perhaps  furnish  a  Presi- 
dent or  a  Hawthorne.  Capitalists,  looking  at  the 
round  figures  20,000,  would  invest,  and  railroads 
stretch  out  their  iron  lengths  to  it*from  unknown 
districts.  Yet  twenty  thousand  chiffonniers  are  twen- 
ty thousand  inhabitants,  except  in  Paris.  They, 
too,  have  their  history,  perhaps  their  destiny — 
these  busy  prowlers  of  the  night,  for  at  night  only 
are  they  abroad,  silently  following  their  strange 
pursuit.  But  they  have  their  history,  written  in 
blood.  When  the  great  State  trembles,  they  come 
thronging  out,  fierce  and  active,  with  no  apparent 
purpose,  but  with  astonishing  unanimity.  They 
batter  down  palaces  and  erect  barricades,  and 
kings  fly ;  and  word  goes  out  to  the  world  that 
Paris  has  a  revolution.  The  chiffonnier  is  lord  then. 

I  have  watched   them   many  a  time  since  I  first 


248  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

remarked  the  strange  creatures,  knowing  their  char- 
acter and  singular  life.  It  seemed  to  rne,  in  think- 
ing of  their  weird  existence,  as  if,  while  the  great 
city  was  lost  in  sleep,  they  were  ghouls  darting 
here  and  there,  searching  in  eager  silence  for  their 
aliment,  and  disappearing  as  day  approached.  I 
have  left  my  bed  many  a  time  to  see  them,  and 
remarked  with  others  their  uniform  activity.  In 
all  other  occupations  we  find  a  great  variety  of 
character,  but  with  the  chiffonnier  one  a^wsys  no- 
tices the  same  stealthy,  quick  tread,  the  s.iu>e  ear- 
nest industry. 

Some    time    since,    a    French    author,    as    ~*stin- 
guished  in  poli^cal  life  as  in  literature,  made,   this 
character    the    subject    of   a    drama,    that,    in    the 
hands  of  Frederic  Lemaitre,  the  famous   actor,  had 
a  run  unequaled  even  in  Paris.      I  never  sa-«  the 
piece  performed,  but,  attracted  by  the  name  of  I  lix 
Pyat,  its  author,  I  made  it  my  text-book  in  stuvi'y- 
ing    French    for    some    months.     I    have  wonder*  1 
greatly   at  its   not  being  translated   and  performt  4 
in  America.     The  character  of  Jean,  given  by  Mu. 
doch  or  Anderson,  would  be  very  effective.     Twer? 
ty  thousand    people   must    have   instances   of   indi 
vidual    romance,    and  the   chiffonniers    have  theirs 
An  eminent  physician  at  one  time  in  Paris  is  no\» 
a  rag-picker,  and  may  be  seen,  when   not  prescrib 


LE    CHIFFONNIER    DE     PARIS.  249 

ing  to  his  brother  chiffonniers,  passing  from  heap 
to  heap  of  gathered  rubbish,  lantern  in  hand,  like 
another  Diogenes.  One  can  almost  read  a  strange 
history  in  his  countenance.  As  he  takes  a  closer 
view  at  some  doubtful  substance,  and  the  light 
gleams  over  his  wrinkled  face,  one  is  startled  at 
the  stern  expression  of  settled  discontent,  indeed 
of  hatred.  But  for  the  history. 

The  Count  Rodolph  Vesey  was  the  husband  of 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  fascinating  women 
in  Paris.  The  Count  married  her  in  a  blind  fit 
of  love,  greatly  to  the  indignation  of  his  family ; 
for  she  was  neither  rich  nor  of  noble  position.  lie 
married  for  the  beauty,  and  was  too  stupid  to  dis- 
cover that  he  was  taking  more  than  he  asked. 
The  beautiful  Diane  was  as  talented  as  beautiful, 
and  the  gentleman  found  at  length  that  he  had 
brought  to  his  house  a  being  far  superior  in  spirit 
and  intellect  to  himself.  Vain  and  jealous  as  he 
was,  the  discovery  became  a  terrible  annoyance. 
His  gorgeous  house  was  rendered  the  most  at- 
tractive in  the  city,  and  bis  dashing  wife  the  Center 
of  a  wide  circle,  made  up  of  wits,  poets,  states- 
men, and  artists;  and  no  one  could  claim  any 
position  in  the  fashionable  world  unless  recognized 
by  madame  the  Countess.  This  was  bad  enough, 
at  best ;  but  the  lord  ancl  master  was  awkward 

n* 


250  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

and  silly,  and  good-natured  friends  soon  taught 
him  the  fact  that,  while  one  half  orthe  establish- 
ment was  courted  and  admired,  the  other  was 
avoided  and  laughed  at — the  old  story  of  Beauty 
and  the  Beast — only  this  beast  was  an  ugly  beast, 
and  permitted  some  very  bad  feelings  to  grow  in  his 
sour  nature.  The  old  love  gradually  changed  into 
a  bitter  hate.  In  our  country — where  this  little 
drama  is  often  acted,  as  well  as  elsewhere — the 
husband  finds  relief  in  dissipation ;  and  the  poor 
wife,  for  daring  to  have  brilliancy,  is  punishe'd  by 
seeing  her  better-half  a  terrible  animal  indeed.  But 
Frenchmen  have  a  French  nature,  differing  decid- 
edly from  our  old-fashioned  human  nature;  and 
the  Count  Eodolph  did  not  drink  strong  drinks, 
.  nor  did  he  gamble ;  but  the  Count  betook  himself 
to  hard  thinking,  not  for  the  purpose  of  improv- 
ing his  weak  head,  but  to  discover,  if  possible, 
some  means  by  which  to  dispose  of  his  beautiful 
superior.  She  was  so  very  prudent  in  her  conduct, 
so  general  in  her  attentions,  that  light-winged  slan- 
der, so  delicate  and  indifferent  a  thing  in  Paris,  - 
could  find  no  spot  on  which  to  rest.  The  Count 
was  sorely  perplexed.  If  she  would  only  love 
some  one — if  she  would  only  give  him  a  reasona- 
ble pretext  for  abuse — what  a  happy  man  he  pro- 
posed to  be  1"  This  came  at  last — the  pretext,  I 


LE    CHIFFONNIER    DE    PARIS.  251 

mean ;  for  at  this  day  the  Countess  is  regarded  as 
a  saint  in  ntee — a  purity  in  white  kids.  But  the 
occasion  for  a  rupture  appeared. 

Well,  you  ask,  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  our 
Doctor,  the  chiffonnier  ?  Be  patient ;  we  will  come 
to  that  directly.  Among  the  admirers  who  surround- 
ed the  Countess  was  a  round-shouldered,  hooked- 
nosed,  badly-dressed  individual,  that  one  might  call 
positively  homely.  But  this  gentleman  was  witty, 
eloquent,  and  withal  generous  and  sincere;  not 
generally  so  regarded,  but  so  in  fact.  After  one 
passed,  if  one  could,  the  outer  line  of  breakers  and 
spray,  they  found  sunny  fields  and  quiet  dells, 
full  of  nature's  richest  stores.  He  appeared  wealthy, 
held  a  high  official  position,  and  had  to  the  world 
an  unknown  history.  But  he  was  known  histori- 
cally to  our  brilliant  Countess. 

When  the  Countess  was  no  Countess,  but  a  poor 
girl  living  with  her  widowed  mother  in  no  very 
magnificent  style,  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  in  a  rather 
poverty-stricken  way,  trusting  to  the  precarious  in- 
come from  music  and  French  lessons,  in  the  same 
house  with  her  lived  a  poor  student.  The  cham- 
bers of  Madame  Valmott  and  daughter  were  some 
distance  from  the  street,  but  nothing  in  comparison 
to  those  of  the  student  who  lodged'  in  an  unknown 
quarter,  quite  out  of  Paris.  You  went  round  and 


!>fj2  BELL    SMITH     ABROAD. 

round  until  you  were  dizzy,  then  up  a  straight, 
narrow  flight,  then  you  turned  sudd^KTly,  and  fol- 
lowed a  somber  passage,  the  little  light  of  which 
came,  you  knew  not  from  where,  and  seemed  it- 
self to  be  lost  and  faint  with  getting  there.  Then 
you  stumbled  against  half  a  dozen  stairs — as  if  the 
habit  of  having  stairs  could  not  be  got  clear  of — 
then  you  opened  a  door,  and  found  a  little  room, 
queerly  shaped,  and  lighted  by  a  window  in  the 
roof.  But  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  little 
room,  only  with  its  occupant — a  silent,  studious 
man,  who  seemed  to  have  a  purpose.  How  he 
became  acquainted  with  Madame  Valmott  and  her 
beautiful  daughter,  I  do  not  know ;  but  the  ac- 
quaintance was  interesting  and  useful.  He  gave 
the  daughter  lessons,  comforted  the  mother  with 
good  advice  and  several  small  loans  of  money,  and, 
I  suspect,  was  quite  in  love  with  his  acquaintance 
— when  Monsieur  the  Count  came  in,  and  carried 
away  the  prize.  The  student  went  his  way,  the 
Countess  hers;  they  were  wide  enough  apart,  and 
quite  unknown  to  each  other  for  many  years;  but 
the  position  of  the  one,  and  the  talent  of  the  other, 
made  them  known  to  the  world,  and  to  each,  at 
last. 

The  Count  Vas  ignorant  of  this  little  history,  as 
all  were  but  the  two  interested.     He   only  np.ticeci 


LE    CHIFFONNIER    DE    PARIS.  2o3 

the  brightened  face  and  joyous  manner  with  which 
this  gentleman  was  received,  the  hours  spent  in  con- 
versation, the  letters  passing  to  and  fro,  and  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  the  fact  that  his  wife  had 
at  last  fallen  in  love.  The  discovery  did  not 
please  the  gentleman  so  much  as  he  anticipated.  In- 
deed, he  flew  into  a  rage,  even  going  so  far  as 
to  consider  himself  an  ill-used  man,  a  victim  to 
be  pitied  and  comforted,  if  not  revenged.  Madame 
the  Countess  certainly  was  very  happy  in  the  com- 
pany of  her  strange  acquaintance,  and  passed  too 
much  time  enjoying  it.  But  the  circumstances  on 
which  the  husband  acted  were  subsequently  shown 
to  prove  her  entirely  beyond  suspicion. 

This  lady  had  never  intruded  her  poor  rela- 
tions upon  her  rich  husband.  Even  her  mother, 
long  as  she  was  on  earth,  seemed  quite  removed 
from  the  sphere  usually  filled  by  mothers.  But 
she  had  one  relative  dependent  upon  her  bounty;  a 
poor  cousin,  whose  ill  health  made  it  almost  impos- 
sible to  serve  without  annoying  her  husband.  She 
was  anxious  to  secure  the  unhappy  youth  a 
post  under  Government,  by  which  he  might  sup- 
port himself  and  relations.  This  gave  rise  to  a 
mysterious  correspondence,  watched  over  by  the 
anxious  husband.  He  saw  sufficient,  in  his  excited 
Qoodition,  to  think  his  fears  confirmed,  and  set 


254  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

about  his  revenge.  It  was  what  a  weak,  cowardly 
creature  would  propose;  eminently  cruel  in  intent, 
eminently  French  in  manner.  He  did  not  wish  to 
kill  his  wife,  but  merely  to  subdue  and  conquer 
her ;  and  with  this  design  determined  to  tie  her, 
open  a  vein  in  her  arm,  taking  care  to  have  a 
physician  near,  and,  under  the  terror  of  death,  to 
hear  her  confession  and  prayer  for  forgiveness,  and 
then  call  in  medical  aid  to  her  relief.  It  was  well 
planned,  and,  had  the  poor  lady  any  thing  to  con- 
fess, would  have  probably  been  successful.  He  bor- 
rowed a  lancet  from  the  family  physician,  bade  that 
gentleman  be  in  attendance,  without,  of  course,  re- 
vealing his  design.  The  poor  woman  wakened  from 
her  sleep  to  find  herself  bound  hand  and  foot,  with 
her  cruel  husband  standing  over  her.  She  did  not 
scream  or  attempt  to  move,  but  opening  her  large 
eyes,  stared  in  fright  and  astonishment. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this?". she  faltered 
out. 

He  replied,  to  make  her  -confess,  before  dying, 
to  her  ingratitude  and  infidelity.  She  tried  to  laugh, 
tried  to  consider  it  a  stupid  jest,  but  the  angered 
expression  of  his  face  made  the  laugh  die  in  her 
throat.  He  again  demanded  a  confession,  and  she 
asserted  her  innocence.  He  bared  her  arm  and  ap- 
plied the  lancet — a  wild  scream  rang  through  the 


LE    CHIFFONNIER    DE    PARIS.  255 

room.  The  Count  had  prepared  for  this,  yet,  fear- 
ing she  might  be  heard,  he  placed  his  hand  upon 
her  mouth.  Looking  at  pleading  eyes  and  flow- 
ing blood  was  certainly  not  a  way  to  obtain  a  con- 
fession ;  yet  every  removal  of  his  hand  was  fol- 
lowed by  such  piteous  screams,  that  no  other  way 
was  left.  Enraged  at  his  failure,  or  blinded  from 
the  first,  he  repeated  the  wounds,  until  his  pool 
wife  fainted  from  loss  of  blood. 

The  Count  rang  for  the  doctor ;  but  the  doctor, 
a  bluff,  frank  man,  tired  of  waiting,  had  uncere- 
moniously departed,  and  the  husband,  believing  his 
wife  dead,  hastily  gathered  some  valuables  and  fled, 
nor  was  he  ever  heard  of  again.  The  poor  wife 
was  left  to  die  alone. 

We  are  told  that  a  death  of  this  sort  is  exceed- 
ingly cruel.  The  blood  flows  until  the  victim  faints 
— then  it  ceases,  and  she  revives ;  and  so,  dying 
many  times,  life  gradually  ebbs  away. 

If  I  were  a  great  author,  of  the  Bulwer  school, 
now,  I  would  pause,  and  call  your  attention  to  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  this  poor  lady,  as  for  an 
hour  she  lay  there  with  the  springs  of  life  tossing 
their  crimson  spray  from  her  lovely  arms — I  would 
remark  the  golden  tapestry,  the  old  paintings,  the 
gorgeous  furniture,  the  many  gilded  mirrors,  in 
which  startled  and  feeble  life  saw  itself  reflected 


250  BELL    SMITH    ABKOAD. 

Above  all,  I  would  suggest  the  fact  of  -the  mother 
turning  her  dying  head,  and  staring  through  the, 
to  her,  gathering  night,  to  where,  under  the  little 
canopy,  swung  her  babe,  prattling  to  itself  as  it 
awaited  the  morning  caress.  And,  writing  a  French 
horror,  this  all  would  be  in  keeping.  Our  friend, 
the  doctor,  having  completed  some  trifling  affair, 
returned,  and  proceeded  at  once  to  the  chamber 
of  Madame.  The  physician  belonged  to  that  class 
of  great  minds  who  are  astonished  at  no  event. 
Unfortunately  for  him,  in  this  instance  he  coolly 
rung  up  the  servants,  ordered  the  release  of  their 
lady,  applied  all  necessary  remedies,  as  if  seeing 
to  an  ordinary  affair.  But  his  help  came  too  late 
• — the  poor  Countess  could  only  falter  out  her  sad 
story,  and  die. 

I  say  the  doctor's  manner  was  much  against 
him ;  his  lancet  was  found  stained  with  blood  upon 
the  floor,  and  although  never  believed  to  bo  the 
principal,  and  on  account  of  his  position  cleared 
as  an  accomplice,  yet  suspicion  remained,  and  the 
world  recoiled  from  him  in  horror.  His  practice 
fell  away ;  he  rapidly  sunk  into  poverty ;  his  wife, 
a  sensitive,  ambitious  woman,  died  of  a  broken 
heart,  and  for  a  long  while  the  great  world  lost 
sight  of  him.  One  morning,  just  before  daylight, 
the  carriage  of  one  of  his  most  wealthy  patients 


LE    CHIFFONNIEB    DE    PARIS.  257 

of  former  times,  whirling  home  from  a  ball,  nearly 
threw  to  the  ground  an  old  chiffonnier ;  and  as 
the  riidely-shaken  lantern  gleamed  upon  the  iron 
countenance  of  its  possessor,  the  gentleman  recog- 
nized his  former  friend  and  physician.  A  chiffon- 
nier he  was,  and  a  chiffonnier  he  is  to  this  day. 
I  would  not  be  safe  in  asserting  that  your 
readers  have  not  met  with  this  before,  for  it  is 
historical,  and  as  such  I  give  it  here — a  specimen 
of  the  material  out  of  which  rag-pickers  are  some- 
times made  in  Paris.  Fine  linen  ends  in  chiffons, 
and  fine  people  sometimes  in  chiffonniers. 


XXI. 


d/atacomh. 


0  M  E  time  in 
^xthe  year  of  1774, 
a  large  house 
in  what  is  now 
known  as  the 
Latin  Quarter 
— then  the 
most  fashion- 
able part  of 
Paris— sudden- 
ly fell  to  the 
ground.  The 
house  did  not 
fall  upon  its 
inmates  like 
one  shaken  by 
an'  earthquake,  or  overthrown  by  a  great  wind, 
but  seemed  to  have  crumbled  into  the  very  earth, 
and,  in  place  of  a  heap  of  ruins,  presented  almost 


THE    CATACOMBS.  253 

a  cavity.  This  event  created  intense  terror,  but 
this  terror  was  infinitely  augmented  when  another 
and  another  huge  house  disappeared  in  the  like 
manner.  The  Government,  at  that  time  exclusively 
engaged  in  hunting  down  offending  authors  of 
epigrams  pointed  at  Du  Barry  and  Louis  the  Well- 
Beloved,  turned  its  attention  to  discovering,  if  pos* 
sible,  what  subterranean  power  was  swallowing  up 
the  houses  of  Paris. 

About  this  time  another  circumstance  assisted 
in  directing  their  pursuit.  Paris  was  beset  by  rob- 
bers, smugglers,  and  political  offenders,  who  seemed 
to  possess  the  power  of  disappearing  at  will,  and 
thereby  setting  at  defiance  the  wrath  of  offended 
law.  An  offender  would  be  tracked  to  his  abode, 
the  house  immediately  surrounded,  but,  on  breaking 
in  and  searching  the  premises,  the  bird  would  be 
gone,  and  the  police  painfully  impressed  with  a 
belief  in  witchcraft.  At  last,  however,  through  the 
agency  of  gold,  three  of  the  most  noted  offenders 
were  secured.  Subjected  to  hideous  tortures,  a  con- 
fession was  wrung  from  one  that  threw  light  upon 
the  strange  fact  of  fallen  bouses  and  disappearing 
thieves.  The  execution  of  these  three  men  is  so 
graphically  told  by  Monsieur  Berthet  in  his  "  Cata- 
combs of  Paris,"  and  gives  such  a  picture  of  the 
times  when  "  Louis  the  Well-Beloved  "  held  sway  in 


260  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

France,  that  I  can  not  forbear  translating  it  for  youi 
readers. 

Eight  in  the  morning  had  just  ceased  ringing 
from  the  clock  of  the  Palace  of  Justice.  One  of 
those  thin  transparent  fogs  rising  from  the  Seine 
of  a  September  morning,  enveloped  the  towers  of 
the  Grand  Chatelet,  the  clock  of  Saint  Jean  en 
Grove,  and  the  pointed  roofs  of  Hotel  de  Ville. 
The  Place  de  Greve  had  not  then  the  regularity 
and  beauty  of  to-day.  Surrounded  by  old  houses 
with  gables  to  the  street,  no  three  of  which  were 
in  line — and  overhanging  stories — while  the  pave- 
ment was  broken  and  dirty.  The  streets  in  the 
neighborhood  were  narrow,  somber,  and  unwhole- 
some. In  fact  it  was  yet  the  old  and  melancholy 
Grave  of  the  middle  ages — a  place  historically  filled 
with  souvenirs,  but  souvenirs  cruel,  cold,  and  bloody. 

This  day  in  particular  the  Grove  had  an  expression 
dark  and  sinister.  Facing  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  in  the 

• 

center  of  the  place,  was  a  hideous  scaffold.  One 
saw  the  upright  posts  supporting  a  heavy  beam, 
from  which  hung,  trembling  in  the  chill  wind, 
three  cords  with  nooses  prepared.  It  was  not  the 
scaffold,  nor  the  cords,  nor  the  expressive  noose 
that  chilled  the  blood,  and  made  the  heart  sick. 
On  the  ground  was  a  mysterious  instrument,  shaped 
something  like  a  wheel,  against  which  leaned  an 


THE    CATACOMBS.  261 

iron  bar,  accompanied  by  chains  and  cords,  and 
on  which,  one  saw  heavy  dark  stains  by  former 
torture.  This  was  the  wheel,  the  last  invention  of 
cruel  ingenuity. 

An  audience  was  not  wanting  for  this  heartless 
spectacle.  The  execution  would  not  take  place  for 
hours  later,  yet  the  place  was  filled  to  overflowing 
— an  overflowing  that  rolled  back  into  neighboring 
streets  quite  out  of  view,  where  the  crowd  amused- 
itself  by  cries,  songs,  brutal  jests  and  fights.  The 
soldiers  of  the  Prevostr  with  their  grand  batons, 
with  difficulty  opened  a  way  for  the  officers,  while 
the  guard  about  the  scaffold  could  scarce  keep  their 
ranks  against  the  rolling,  tumultuous  crowd.  The 
gamins  of  Paris,  perched  on  sheds,  balconies  and 
trees,  screamed  shrilly  at  each  other.  The  pecllers, 
then  more  numerous  than  now,  threaded  the  crowd, 
giving  utterance  to  their  strange  appeals.  A  singer, 
stationed  on  a  corner,  charmed  the  ears  of  a  wide 
circle  by  a  song  which  he  accompanied  on  a  cracked 
violin.  One  could  have  said  that  it  was  a  market, 
a  fete,  or  fair,  but  for  the  giant  gallows  with  its 
pendent  cords,  which  gave  the  true  character  of 
the  attraction. 

But  it  was  not  only  the  bourgeoise,  and  mass  of 
common  people,  who  invaded  the  Greve.  The  priv- 
ileged classes,  the  lords  and  ladies  of  the  court, 


262  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

were  also  there.  In  place,  however,  of  crowding 
the  pave,  they  occupied  reserved  seats  at  windows 
of  houses  convenient,  the  balconies  of  Ilotel  de 
Ville,  and  even  the  roofs  of  neighboring  buildings. 
On  every  side,  gay  gentlemen,  perfumed  abbes, 
courtly  dames,  elegantly  dressed,  advanced  their 
powdered  heads  to  catch  a  better  view,  or  nod  one 
to  the  other.  The  court  seemed  to  be  enjoying  a 
reception  in  Place  de  Greve.  Window  saluted  win- 
dow with  smiles  of  satisfaction.  Several  curious 
nobles,  unable  to  secure  windows,  had  driven  their 
equipages  far  into  the  crowd,  and  sat  yawning  while 
their  footmen  scowled  insolently  at  the  jeering 
crowd.  Since  the  death  of  La  Brinvilliers,  of  which 
Madame  de  Sevigne,  crowded  upon  the  street,  could 
see  but  the  head, — since  the  execution  of  Damien, 
which  a  young  and  beautiful  duchess  described  with 
such  evident  delight — never  had  the  place  of  Hotel 
de  Ville  witnessed  so  numerous  and  brilliant  an 
assembly. 

It  was  not  a  poisoner  in  the  person  of  a  marquis, 
nor  yet  a  regicide-devote,  that  called  this  immense 
crowd  from  their  various  homes  to  witness  a  brutal 
death,  but  a  common  robber  with  two  accomplices, 
about  whose  career  had  so  long  hung  a  fearful  mys- 
tery. Their  various  deeds,  greatly  exaggerated, 
were  not  more  surprising  than  those  of  ordinary 


THE     CATACOMBS.  263 

occurrence  coming  to  light  each  day  ;  but  their  suc- 
cessful concealments,  their  sudden  appearance  and 
as  sudden  escapes,  brought  to  belief  almost  the 
witchcraft  of  old.  But  gold  has  a  power  superior 
even  to  witchcraft — and  now,  slowly  making  its 
way  through  the  tumultuous  crowd  like  a  vessel 
working  against  a  tide,  the  cortege  appears  with 
its  victims  bound  hand  and  foot  between. 

I  stop  without  translating  the  graphic  account  of 
the  terrible  torture  known  as  "breaking  on  the 
wheel,"  and  the  subsequent  death.  But,  having 
introduced  this  well- written  account,  as  an  artist 
gives  an  overture  to  a  drama,  let  me  say  in  con- 
necting it,  that  the  confession  of  one  of  these 
wretched  criminals  led  to  an  investigation  of  the 
subterranean  chambers  then  under  nearly  one  third 
of  Paris.  Evidently  quarries  from  which  almost 
in  its  infancy  Paris  had  materials  for  building — sub- 
sequently used  as  places  for  burial — the  entrances 
had  been  gradually  built  over  or  destroyed,  until 
the  existence  of  them  became  in  the  public  mind 
a  matter  of  doubt  and  tradition,  and  the  events 
to  which '  we  have  alluded^  called  the  attention  of 
authorities  to  their  existence.  That  vast  and  noi- 
some chambers  connected  by  galleries  existed  under 
the  densely-populated  and  closely-built  district  of 
St.  Germain,  under  such  huge  piles  as  St.  Sulpice, 


2G-4  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

Pantheon,  and  the  Paiace  of  the  Luxembourg,  was 
a  fact  to  make  one  wonder — and  many  a  time  while 
living  in  Place  St.  Sulpice,  my  mind  went  down 
into  the  darksome  regions  to  grope  blindly  among 
the  dead  of  a  forgotten  age. 

It  had  been  our  continued  intention  to  visit  the 
"Catacombs,"  but  the  curiosity  was  somewhat  al- 
layed by  a  fearful  picture  of  a  few  hours'  stay  in 
them  given  by  our  talented  artist,  Mr.  Walcutt.  By 
his  industry  and  genius  he  had  carried  away  a 
warmly-contested  prize  from  an  academy  sustained 
by  the  Government,  the  possession  of  which  gave 
him  the  right  to  visit  many  places,  among  which 
were  the  "Catacombs."  He  did  not  however  avail 
himself  of  this  privilege,  until  a  party  of  English 
and  American  officers  arrived  with  permits  from 
the  Government,  and  proposed  that  he  should  ac- 
company them.  They  set  oif  one  noon,  making  the 
entrance  near  Hotel  Cluny,  preceded  by  a  guide. 
This  entrance,  nor  indeed  any  other,  is  not  of  a 
striking  character.  They  entered  a  low  doorway, 
and  immediately  commenced  descending  a  narrow 
spiral  stairway  old,  worn,  and  dirty.  He  counted 
sixty  steps  before  arriving  at  the  end,  where  a  nar- 
row gallery  cut  through  the  soft  stone  presented 
itself.  The  passage  they  traversed  was  so  low 
and  so  narrow,  two  could  scarcely  walk  abreast, 


THE    CATACOMBS.  265 

while  the  ceiling  bore  the  marks  of  torches  carried 
through  it  perhaps  centuries  before.  Numerous 
other  passages  crossed,  or  led  from  this,  and  our 
friend  was  fast  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  these 
narrow  burrows  in  the  earth  were  any  thing  but 
the  grand  excavations  he  had  been  taught  to  ex- 
pect, when  they  came  suddenly  upon  a  huge  cham- 
ber hewn  from  the  solid  rock.  The  guide  lit  a 
number  of  torches,  and  distributing  them  among 
the  rocks,  called  upon  the  party  to  mark  the 
effect.  The  glare  of  light  upon  the  white  rocks, 
reflected  by  the  lofty  ceiling,  sustained  by  huge 
pillars  of  masonry,  and  dashing  with  flashing  starts 
towards  the  gloomy  recesses,  and  yet  gloomier 
entrances,  as  if  attempting  to  penetrate  and  drive 
back  the  night — had  certainly  a  very  startling  effect. 
To  one  who  had  explored  the  Mammoth  Cave  in 
Kentucky,  had  traversed  great  fields  of  night,  crossed 
lakes,  and  heard  the  mysterious  rush  of  unseen 
rivers,  and  watched  the  long  line  of  red  lights  de- 
scending precipices — this  view  of  the  Catacombs 
dwindled  into  utter  insignificance.  But  humanity 
throws  an  interest  around  objects  nature  can  not 
approach.  The  doubtful  origin  of  these  chambers, 
the  mysterious  use  assigned  them  in  ages  gone  by, 
the  fact  that,  above,  a  great  city  rung  out  its  busy 

life — all  served  to  create  an  awe  no  mere  exhibition 

12 


266  BELL    SMITH    ABKOA.D. 

of  nature,  however  magnificent,   could  call  into  ex- 
istence. 

Our  friend  wished  to  do  in  the  Catacombs  as  he 
often  had  done  during  a  summer's  residence  near 
the  Mammoth  Cave — watch  the  effect  of  lights  leav- 
ing him,  so  as  from  a  good  view  to  secure  a  sketch 
of  the  strange  interior.  He  seated  himself  without 
speaking  to  the  party  that  went  on,  not  noticing 
his  movement.  The  groupings  and  lights  as  the 
company  left  him  were  certainly  striking  and  worth 
the  arrangement.  As  they  approached  the  farther 
end  of  the  huge  chamber,  he  rose  to  follow,  when 
their  sudden  disappearance  into  one  of  the  low 
galleries — so  many  of  which  cross  and  re-cross  the 
principal  passage — alarmed  him,  and  he  hastened 
forward  only,  in  the  darkness  that  immediately  fol- 
lowed, to  stumble  over  a  pile  of  stones.  He  rose, 
and  again  hastening  forward  ran  against  a  pillar, 
and  fell  back  stunned  and  bleeding.  He  gained 
his  feet  and  hesitated.  His  first  thought  was  that 
the  party  with  their  guide  would  return  that  way 
— his  next,  that,  missing  him,  they  would  retrace  their 
steps  in  his  search.  To  attempt  following  them 
would  be  madness.  He  could  only  grope  his  way 
in  blind  darkness,  through  unknown  and  perhaps 
unexplored  passages — while  remaining  in  one  place 
he  at  least  would  be  in  the  route  best  known  to 


THE    CATACOMBS.  267 

the  guides.  So  seating  himself,  he  counted  the  weary 
minutes,  that  seemed  hours,  in  that  dreary  waiting. 
Indistinct  remembrance  of  stories  told  him  of  per- 
sons who  had  disappeared  and  perished  in  these 
fearful  depths,  came  up  to-  make  more  unbearable 
his  terrible  position.  There  was  no  sound  of  life, 
save  from  the  slow  dropping  of  water,  that  seemed 
the  very  voice  of  solitude  itself. 

Hours  seemed  wearing  away.  Once  he  thought 
he  heard  the  sound  of  steps,  and,  starting  up,  he 
felt  his  way  along — hastening  to  meet  them.  In 
his  groping  he  found,  as  he  thought,  ,the  gallery  by 
which  they  passed  out,  and  he  turned  along  it,  but 
meeting  no  one,  paused,  hesitated,  and  then  returned. 
He  walked  back,  as  he  thought,  toward  the  chambei 
from  which  his  companions  had  vanished — but,  aftei 
blindly  pushing  on,  he  became  convinced,  from  the 
distance  he  traversed,  that  he  had  missed  his  way, 
and  was  indeed  lost.  It  required  but  a  moment 
to  realize  his  position;  and  the  cold  perspiration 
started  from  every  pore  as  he  did  so.  "What  days 
might  elapse  before,  in  this  labyrinth  of  winding 
passages,  he  could  be  found — what  suffering — what 
a  death,  seemed  inevitable !  There  was  no  utility 
now  in  remaining  still — he  might  stumble  upon 
the  track  of  his  friends — might  find  the  stairs  by 
which  they  had  descended,  or  discover  one  of  the 


208  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

many  outlets  yet  remaining  open.  Blindly  grop- 
ing, he  painfully  and  slowly  continued — now  stum- 
bling over  loose  stones — now  stepping  in  pools  of 
water  from  which  he  drank — and  pausing  every 
few  moments  to  catch  the  sound  of  returning  steps 
• — yet  pausing  in  vain — for  around  him  reigned 
the  stillness  of  the  tomb.  The  tomb,  indeed — for, 
whatever  was  the  origin  of  these  huge  excavations, 
they  had  been  used  as  burial-places — and  every 
few  moments,  as  he  felt  his  way,  his  hand  resting 
upon  a  smooth  '  stone,  he  thought  to  grasp  the 
skull  of  some  unfortunate,  consigned  to  this  fear- 
ful resting-place  perhaps  centuries  before. 

Hours — they  seemed  ages — went  by,  and  he  be- 
gan to  experience  that  fatigue  which  comes  from 
excessive  mental  excitement — and  with  it  the  de- 
jection that  said — Despair.  Seating  himself,  his 
hearing  keenly  alive  to  every  sound,  he  tried  to 
rest — tried  to  be  calm — tried  to  believe  that  in  a 
few  moments  he  would  catch  the  sound  of  coming 
footsteps — hear  the  blessed  human  voice  once  more. 
But  all  in  vain;  the  brooding  silence — the  cold 
earthly  air — above  all,  the  intense  darkness,  seemed 
to  weigh  upon  his  very  heart,  and  crush  out  hope. 
He  again  started  to  his  feet  to  continue  his  efforts. 
Turning  a  corner  suddenly,  he  came  upon  a  dying 
torch  stuck  in  the  crevice  of  a  rock.  No  crew  in 


THE    CATACOMBS.  269 

a  polar  sea,  searching  for  lost  comrades,  ever  came 
unexpectedly  upon  traces  of  their  friends — no  lost 
friends  ever  stumbled  upon  evidences  of  neighbor- 
ing humanity — with  the  same  joy  our  friend  seized 
upon  this  brand.  The  company  had  evidently 
passed  that  way — would  they  return?  He  seized 
the  torch  and  attempted  to  blow  the  fire  into  life 
again — he  waved  it  hurriedly,  but  the  flickering 
flame  only  served  for  a  seconcj.  to  light  the  pillars, 
the  jutting  rocks  and  dark  recesses,  then  plunge 
all  in  darkness  more  oppressive  more  profound 
than  before.  Fate  seemed  against  him;  yet,  from 
the  appearance  of  the  torch,  these  very  companions 
had  passed  but  a  few  moments  before.  What  sig- 
nified that?  they  had  not  encountered  him — probably 
had  not  missed  him — perhaps  never  would.  Why 
had  he  not  shouted?  they  might  have  heard  him. 
He  did  so  now — throwing  his  entire  voice  into 
one  effort  he  uttered  a  fearful  cry,  that  rang  out 
dismally  along  the  passages,  and  came  back  ag;wn 
in  dull  echoes;  but  these  last  alone  replied.  He 
again  sat  down,  resting  his  head  upon  his  hands  ; 
he  heard  the  question  ringing  in  his  ears  again 
and  again,  with  such  fearful  pertinacity,  "  Am  I  to 
die  in  this  manner?"  He  heard  again  the  water 
dripping  in  regular  beats,  with  a  monotony  more 
terrible  than  utter  silence;  for  his  imagination  saw 


270  BELL     SMITH    ABROAD. 

in  it  a  huge  clock  beating  out  a  measure  for  the 
life  of  men.  He  was  startled  to  hear  the  sound 
of  the  organ  and  church  music — deep,  heavy,  and 
indistinct' — doubtless  vespers  at  St.  Sulpice.  And 
he  thought  of  the  crowds  entering  that  huge 
edifice,  and  listening  to  the  divine  music,  little  dream- 
ing of  the  suffering  and  death  far  down  in  the  black 
chambers  beneath  them.  He  thought  of  the  great 
noisy  world  above,  of  the  rattling  voitures,  laugh  of 
children,  hum  of  men,  and  gossiping  of  women.  The 
companions  who  had  accompanied  him  had  proba- 
bly returned  to  their  homes,  forgetful  of  him. 

From  this  his  mind  wandered  to  other  scenes, 
far,  far  away  over  the  wide  Atlantic — scenes  of 
his  childhood.  He  saw  once  more  the  Sciota  flow- 
ing sunnily  away,  now  widening  into  a  lake — now 
slumbering  apparently  under  huge  banks  covered 
with  forest  trees.  Ah !  how  beautiful ;  how  near  and 
dear  all  seemed  to  him!  Or  he  saw  a  home  as 
wildly  beautiful,  but  nearer  still,  where  the  winds 
whispered  among  bending  trees,  and  wild  birds 
sang,  and  two  lovely  eyes  looked  long,  yet  looked 
in  vain  for  him  who  should  never,  never  come 
again — never  be  heard  of  in  his  loathsome  burial- 
place.  Then  the  mind  took  up  the  dimly-remem- 
bered stories  of  persons  lost  in  these  vast  chambers, 
and  stumbled  over  by  exploring  parties  after  the 


THE    CATACOMBS.  271 

rats  had  half  eaten  their  bodies.  He  could  not 
bear  the  thought — he  would  make  one  more  des- 
perate effort  for  life.  Starting  forward  he  felt 
hastily  his  way  about  the  huge  chamber  in  which 
he  was,  in  search  of  an  entrance,  but  without  suc- 
cess, and  at  last  fell  to  the  earth  in  utter  insen- 
sibility. When  he  came  again  to  consciousness, 
the  blessed  light  of  day  was  shining  upon  him,  and 
friends  were  about  his  bed  watching  eagerly  his 
return  to  life.  Their  story  was  as  he  had  sus- 
pected. They  were  on  their  return  before  one  of 
the  party  noted  his  absence ;  and  then,  quite  a  dis- 
pute arose  as  to  whether  he  had  entered  at  all. 
They  were  positive  on  both  sides  of  the  question. 
But  one  of  them  was  so  earnest  in  his  appeals 
to  their  humanity,  asserting  positively  that  he  had 
seen  their  lost  comrade  but  a  minute  before,  that, 
although  the  rest  considered  it  quite  absurd^  that 
any  one  would  willingly  drop  behind  in  such  a 
place,  they  turned  to  search  for  him.  Had  he  re- 
mained where  first  he  lost  them,  the  greater  part 
of  his  suffering  would  have  been  saved  him.  But 
after  carefully  retracing  their  steps,  and  asking  the 
old  man  who  had  opened  the  entrance  for  them, 
and  hearing  his  assertion  that  the  same  number 
came  out  that  he  had  permitted  to  go  in,  they 
laughed  at  their  fears  and  separated. 


272  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that  one  of  the  company 
who  had  denied  at  first,  and  felt  satisfied  in  his 
denial,  that  Mr.  W.  was  one  of  the  party — after 
they  had  separated  suddenly  remembered  a  little 
circumstance  which  brought  the  missing  friend  to 
mind.  He  hastened  to  his  room,  and,  not  finding 
him  there,  to  his  various  places  of  resort,  but  with 
like  success.  As  the  night  wore  on,  and  no  tidings 
of  the  lost  could  be  had,  he  felt  so  certain  of  the 
terrible  fact  that  he  could  not  sleep,  and  at  last  has- 
tened to  the  proper  authorities  with  his  startling  an- 
nouncement. The  entire  force  was  at  once  put-  in 
requisition;  and,  after  hours  of  painful  search,  our 
hero  was  discovered  and  conveyed  to  a  place 
where  he  could  be  cared  for. 


XXII. 


WAS  so  discour- 
aged in  our  efforts 
to  acquire  a  knowl- 
edge of  French  — 
that  a  proposition 
to  try  a  school 
where  French  was 
the  only  language 
spoken,  met  with 
my  entire  appro- 
bation,  and,  after 
a  careful  inquiry, 
in  which  all  the 
schools  in  and  about  Paris  were  searched  and  ex- 
amined, Lucy  and  I  selected  that  of  Madame  Du- 
i.ont,  and  in  a  few  days  found  ouVselves  safely 
t-nsconced  in  two  little  rooms  in  a  wing  of  the  huge 
establishment  —  one  side  looking  over  a  gray  old 

court    on    to   the    street,    and    the    other    into    the 

12* 


274  BELL    SMITH     ABROAD. 

grounds  full  of  old  trees  and  a  dense  foliage  that 
made  shade  every  where.  The  old  memory  of  my 
girlish  school-days  in  the  convent  of  Notre  Dame 
came  up  as  I  sat  at  the  window  with  grammar 
in  lap,  and  saw  the  girls  in  groups  or  alone  upon 
the  smooth,  hard  graveled  walks — some  chatting, 
others  romping,  while  here  and  there  a  pale-faced 
student  bent  over  her  task,  as  she  slowly  paced 
along,  regardless  of  the  uproar  around.  Oh  !  blessed 
school-days — so  little  appreciated  while  passing — so 
loved  and  dwelt  upon  when  gone  for  ever!  The 
very  air  grew  bracing,  and  in  the  memory  even,  a 
sense  of  appetite  only  known  to  school  life,  came  up. 
The  house,  or  rather  palace  that  had  been,  with 
its  .grounds,  was  worthy  of  note.  We  were  in 
quite  a  wing,  and  so  rambling  was  the  entire  struc- 
ture, that  I  looked  over  the  trees  at  the  main 
building,  as  if  it  belonged  somewhere  else ;  and  to 
reach  the  school-room  required  such  a  threading 
of  narrow  passages — such  descending  and  ascending 
of  winding  stairs,  such  opening  of  unexpected  doors, 
that  Christopher  Columbus  himself  would  have 
grown  disheartened,  and  broken  down  before  he 
had  reached  the  nearest  destination.  The  chateau 
had  been  built  when  the  spot  was  quite  in  the 
country — and  still  the  old  trees,  or  a  portion  of  them, 
stood  guarded  by  high  walls  that  shut  out  the  busy 


INSTRUCTION.  275 

city ;  and  of  course  the  foundatiop  dated  far  back 
I  dare  not  say  when — and  each  owner  in  his  gen- 
eration had  added  to  the  building  as  his  taste  or 
comfort  dictated,  without  regard  to  any  idea  or 
plan  of  construction.  Indeed,  that  severe  sense  of 
order  which  makes  Doolittle  at  home  set  up  a  sham 
pump  with  white  body,  green  top,  and  black  handles 
on  one  side,  to  match  a  real  article  in  like  uniform 
on  the  other,  is  unknown  in  France.  The  owner 
of  a  domicil  only  knows  that  he  needs  a  communica- 
tion with  some  part,  and  the  door,  passage  or  stair- 
way, or  all  three,  find  existence  in  the  most  violent 
opposition  to  proportion. 

I  was  soon  possessed  of  a  wish  to  join  the  young 
life  below,  and,  closing  my  book,  attempted  to  de- 
scend. I  found  this  quite  a  task.  I  selected,  after 
shutting  the  door,  a  passage  that  I  thought  looked 
garden-wise,  and  followed,  turning  first  one  way 
and  then  another  until  fairly  bewildered  by  the  con- 
tinuous route  I  seemed  to  be  following.  As  is 
always  the  case  when  lost,  I  encountered  no  one 
of  whom  I  could  inquire — and  at  last,  fairly  puzzled, 
I  paused  before  a  door  from  which  came  the  low 
monotonous  sound,  so  common  to  school-girls  when 
very  earriestly  at  study.  After  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion I  knocked,  and  to  the  response  of  "Entrez," 
pushed  open  the  door.  In  a  small  three-cornered 


276  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

room,  almost  a  closet,  and  very  plainly  furnished, 
sat  a  little  girl  deep  in  a  volume  almost  as  large 
as  herself.  In  response  to  my  question,  asked  in 
very  questionable  French,  she  said : 

"  I  speak  very  good  English,  if  you  please." 
I  should  say  that  it  was  very  good  English,  so 
good  indeed  that  none  but  one  born  of  several  gen- 
erations within  the  chalky  cliffs  could  speak ;  but 
the  answer  was  given  so  quietly  I  could  not  help 
smiling  while  looking  at  the  little  round-eyed  crea- 
ture before  me.  She  seemed  part  of  the  furniture, 
so  very  plain  and  neat,  clearly  in  keeping  with 
the  polished  floor,  the  little  iron  bedstead — indeed 
with  all  the  surroundings  that  exhibited  only  neat- 
ness and  economy  without  adornment,  if  I  may 
except  the  miniature  portrait  of  a  British  officer 
suspended  above  the  mantel-piece. 

The  little  inmate  of  this    petite    apartment  very 

cheerfully  started  up,   and,   laying    aside  her  huge 

book,    accompanied   me,    saying  rather  quickly  that 

it  would  be  of  no  use  describing  the  way,  we  soon 

found  ourselves  at  the  door.     "Wishing  to  be  polite, 

after  this  act  of  kindness,   I  invited  her  to  walk 

with  me,  but  she  declined,  and  on  my  pressing  said, 

no,  positively — that  she  had  left  her  door  unlocked. 

"  Why,"  I  asked,  "  what  difference  can  that  make?" 

"  Thieves,"  was  the    laconic   reply,      J  Ipoked  in 


INSTRUCTION.  277 

astonishment.  "  Oh,  you  will  get  used  to  that  before 
long,"  she  continued,  "  and  something  worse,  perhaps." 

"  Can  it  be  possible  madame  will  permit  such 
characters  in  her  house  ?"  I  demanded. 

"  Would  n't  have  much  of  a  school  otherwise." 
was  the  comforting  response.  "  Teachers  lie,  scholars 
steal,  and  all  are  French  as  they  can  be." 

I  thought  this  a  specimen  of  ill-nature ;  so,  to 
change  the  conversation,  asked,  "  But  do  you  never 
walk  in  the  grounds,  to  get  up  an  appetite,  for 
example  ?" 

"  Have  n't  time,  and  have  too  much  appetite — starve 
as  it  is — good-by,"  and  away  the  curt  little  creature 
ran.  At  six  o'clock  we  were  summoned  to  dinner. 
There  was  no  reason  why  the  affair,  so  called,  should 
be  one  minute  before  the  time  fixed,  or  any  time 
after;  it  was  just  such  as  one  could  have  at  any  hour, 
without  affecting  either  appetite  or  viands ;  and 
while  looking  into  my  thin  soup,  and  following 
the  meager  stream  of  courses,  I  began  to  have 
fearful  misgivings  that  my  little  friend  had  pre- 
sented me  with  rather  a  startling  fact.  This  was 
more  serious  than  I  cared  to  undergo.  My  delicate 
state  of  health  called  for  a  generous  diet,  and,  taking 
the  dinner  of  the  first  day  as  a  specimen,  one  could 
indeed  be  frightened.  But  our  troubles  did  not  ter- 
minate with  the  loss  of  dinner.  Our  rooms  seemed 


278  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

to  me  damp  and  chilly,  so  I  ordered  a  fire.  It  created 
great  astonishment,  and  some  confusion.  The  bonne 
consulted  the  butler,  the  butler  consulted  Madame, 
and,  after  nearly  two  hours'  delay,  the  poor  woman 
appeared  with  two  consumptive  sticks,  a  handful 
of  kindling,  and,  after  some  terrible  efforts  with  a 
diminutive  and  wheezy  little  old  pair  of  bellows, 
filled  our  rooms  with  smoke.  The  sticks  would 
not  burn,  only  smoked,  and  into  the  room ;  so  I 
begged  the  domestic  to  cease  her  efforts,  remove 
the  refractory  sticks,  and,  chilled  through,  Lucy 
and  I  crept  into  our  several  beds. 

The  next  morning  we  awaited  breakfast  with  a 
feeling  of  weakness  and  hunger  quite  beyond  de- 
scription. The  meal  itself  was  of  such  a  character 
that  after  leaving  the  table  I  felt  as  unsatisfied  and 
ill  as  before.  We  sent  the  bonne  forth  however 
with  some  money,  and  she  returned  with  a  bottle 
of  ale,  some  bread  and  butter,  and  on  this  we  break- 
fasted. I  hurried  over  this  impromptu  under  the 
impression  that  we  were  to  be  summoned  to  class, 
or  receive  some  notification  of  the  order  of  study. 
But  we  were  mistaken ;  hour  after  hour  went  by 
without  the  slightest  notice  from  any  one.  I  at 
last  addressed  a  note  to  Madame  Dupont,  asking 
some  information  as  to  the  hours  of  study,  and 
begging  that,  in  consideration  of  my  ill  health,  she 


INSTRUCTION.  279 

would  favor  me  with  a  few  extra  dishes,  for  which 
I  would  very  cheerfully  pay.  The  answer  was 
very  kind  and  polite — referring  me  to  the  under- 
teachers  for  information  as  to  recitations,  and  prom- 
ising me  the  food  I  demanded  without  charge. 
To  my  utter  astonishment  I  fo.und  tbat  there  was 
no  order  or  fixed  regulations  whatever,  but  that  the 
teachers,  as  well  as  a  very  active  and  authorized  war 
between  them  and  the  scholars  would  permit,  carried 
on  the  establishment  in  a  very  skirmishy  and  un- 
certain manner.  The  pupils  picked  at  knowledge 
between  battles. 

For  my  dinner  I  brought  in  some  ale  on  my  own 
account,  and  the  dishes  prepared  for  me  were  all  I 
could  wish.  But  to  sit  among  such  a  crowd  of 
eager,  hungry-looking  faces,  eating  choice  articles, 
was  a  task  beyond  my  power  of  endurance.  I  com- 
promised by  sending  a  bottle  of  ale  down  the  table 
— it  did  not  return,  and  I  forwarded  a  second,  and 
then  a  third.  It  was  a  repast  in  itself — the  unre- 
strained pleasure  with  which  small  and  large  re- 
ceived the  unexpected  donation;  After  dinner  I  was 
surprised  at  the  appearance  of  my  little  round-eyed 
friend,  who  actually  found  time  for  a  friendly  visit. 
She  came  in  with  her  quiet  matter-of-course  manner, 
and  congratulated  us  upon  our  dinner. 

"I  thought  you  would  find  long  walks  quite  un- 


280  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

necessary  to  secure  an  appetite  here.  We  had  mus- 
tard to-day — always  have  an  extra  supply  when  the 
meat  is  tainted.  Do  you  propose  to  supply  the  table 
with  ale?" 

I  certainly  did  not,  and  so  replied;  but  the 
thought  struck  me,  and  was  evidently  in  her  mind, 
that  my  extra  dinners  would  be  looked  upon  as 
very  selfish,  and  of  course  be  exceedingly  unpopular. 
I  turned  to  my  little  friend  for  advice.  Indeed 
she  began  to  interest  me.  Without  beauty,  unless 
her  sparkling  eye*  could  claim  a  portion,  she  had 
such  a  solemn,  old  way,  I  was  puzzled  in  attempting 
to  fix  her  age.  It  varied  in  my  mind  from  fourteen 
to  thirty. 

"You  have  been  in  the  school  a  long  while?" 
I  asked. 

"Yes,  over  ten  years." 

"  Indeed ;   and  remained  here  all  the  while  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have  no  home — have  no  remembrance 
of  one.  I  came  here  a  child,  and  they  tell  me  I 
am  an  old  woman." 

"  Your  education  must  be  nearly  completed ;  you 
will  soon  leave  ?" 

"  Don't  know.  I  never  learnt  any  thing  until 
I  took  it  up  of  myself.  Can't  say  when  I  will  be 
taken  away — don't  know  any  one  to  take  me.  But 
let  me  tell  you  of  this  eating.  I  have  a  tea-kettle, 


INSTRUCTION.  281 

gridiron,  and  a  pan.  I  will  fetch  them,  and  you 
can  buy  and  cook  for  yourself." 

This  proposition  set  me  laughing — but  it  was 
palatable,  and  we  sent  little  sprite  for  her  culinary 
utensils,  and  invited  her  to  take  part  in  the  enter- 
prise. At  least  I  assured  her  that  her  advice  was 
necessary  to  secure  us  the  supplies. 

"Madame  Howard,  the  English  teacher,  helps 
me  to  mine!  I  don't  like  her,  however,  and  do 
not  believe  she  will  help  you.  But  you  can  go 
out  and  get  things  for  yourself.." 

There  was  something  so  very  school-girlish  in 
this  proposition  that  I  at  once  acceded  to  it;  and 
we  had  some  very  amusing  adventures  in  stock- 
ing our  larder  and  cooking  our  meals.  Under  the 
pretense  of  walking  in  the  morning  for  the  benefit 
of  health,  we  made  grand  excursions  outside  the 
barrier,  and  returned  ladened  with  ne wry-laid  eggs, 
fresh  butter,  ripe  fruit,  and  at  intervals  a  dressed 
fowl.  We  had  no  wish  whatever  to  smuggle  the 
taxable  articles  through  the  gates,  where  a  guard 
was  stationed  to  see  that  the  city  of  Paris  was  not 
defrauded  of  its  just  revenue;  but  it  seemed  so  far 
beneath  the  dignity  of  such  a  party  to  make  an 
exhibit,  that  we  passed  very  demurely  the  watchful 
guardians  of  the  barriers.  The  trouble  was  not  so 
much  in  procuring  our  eatables,  as  preparing  them 


282  BELL    SMITH    ABEOAD. 

for  the  table.  Such  proceedings  were  expressly  for 
bidden,  and  it  was  astonishing  what  sharp  noses 
our  friends,  the  teachers,  had.  We  had  taught  the 
fire  to  burn,  and,  in  the  cool  evenings  of  early 
spring,  we  drew  the  curtains  close,  lighted  our  lamp, 
and  heard  the  kettle  sing  low,  soft  music,  as  we 
partook  in  smothered  laughs  of  our  dear,  precious, 
forbidden  meals. 

But  I  must  not  take  up  my  entire  letter  with 
discussions  on  the  subject  of  eating;  although  I 
consider  it  a  most  important  feature  in  a  boarding- 
school.  From  neglect  in  this  respect,  more  diseases 
are  grown  than  parents  are  aware  of.  At  a  time 
of  life  when  the  food  should  be  plain,  in  plenty 
and  wholesome,  it  is  generally  at  boarding-schools 
of  the  vilest  description.  Madame  Dupont's  was  a 
fair  specimen,  and,  as  I  have  said,  it  was  scarcely 
possible  to  have  more  abominable  fare. 

We  soon  remarked  the  want  of  system  in  the 
establishment,  and,  next,  the  low  estimate  in  which 
the  under-teachers  were  held.  Poor  things,  I  must 
say  they  were  not  of  a  kind  to  command  a  higher. 
The  establishment  was  conducted  for  the  sole  pur- 
pose of  making  money,  in  a  French  way.  I  do 
not  object  to  this  wish  when  it  is  managed  with 
some  regard  to  .sense  and  honesty.  An  American 
Institution  will  attempt  to  realize  handsomely  by 


INSTRUCTION.  283 

sustaining  a  reputation  for  excellence — at  least  it 
will  make  a  pretense  in  that  direction.  But  the  im- 
mediate sous  is  the  thing  demanded  in  France  ; 
and  after  the  first  disclosure  no  attempt  is  made 
at  disguise.  You  pay  in  advance,  and  no  effort  is 
made  to  have  you  leave  with  any  thing  like  satis- 
faction. You  have  left  your  money,  and,  from  the 
countless  throng  of  strangers,  other  victims  may  be 
found.  There  was  a  constant  and  bitter  war  be- 
tween the  scholars  and  teachers.  The  last  were 
charged  with  being  incapable  and  dishonorable, 
making  up  as  spies  what  they  needed  as  instructors. 
I  could  not  blame  them.  They  were  the  best  to 
be  had  for  the  salaries  paid,  and  did  their  utmost 
to  earn  their  miserable  stipends.  The  scholars  were 
disobedient,  treacherous,  and  cruel.  As  Johnson  has 
said,  the  greater  part  of  our  cruelty  originates  in 
ignorance — we  do  not  realize  the  pain  we  inflict — 
and  children  are  cruel.  It  has  made  my  heart 
ache  to  see  the  persecutions  to  which  the  poor 
teachers  were  subject.  An  English  girl  was  the  ac- 
knowledged leader — a  naturally  fine,  brave,  gene- 
rous creature — but  she  was  enlisted  for  the  war,  and 
the  allies  gave  no  quarter.  Among  the  most  suffer- 
ing was  the  English  teacher,  a  woman  about  thirty- 
five  or  forty  years  of  age,  who  had  yet  the  traces 
of  great  beauty  in  her  face  and  figure,  but  so 


284         -BELL  SMITH  ABROAD. 

marked  up  by  care  that  it  seemed  only  to  increase 
the  ill  effect  of  the  great  loss.  She  was  one  of 
those  patient,  sorrowful  creatures,  who  make  the 
heart  ache.  Her  face  indicated  any  thing  but 
strength  of  character.  She  seemed  to  shrink  from 
the  coarse,  bitter  assaults  of  the  girls,  and  bore  all 
in  silence.  Among  her  most  active  enemies  was 
my  little  friend,  who  appeared  absolutely  to  detest 
the  poor  woman — and  strange,  this  was  responded 
to  by  continued  kindness.  She  was  patient  with 
all,  but  in  this  she  returned  each  instance  of 
unkindness  with  some  pleasant  act,  and  made 
presents  even,  that  must  .have  drawn  heavily  upon 
her  miserable  salary.  I  ventured  on  more  than 
one  occasion  to  remonstrate  against  this  uncalled  for 
evidence  of  ugliness,  but  only  received  in  reply 
the  school-girl  answer  of,  "I  detest  her — what  is 
she  always  poking  about  me  for?"  and  so  I  desisted. 
If  education  can  be  helped  or  injured  by  exam- 
ple, the  education  at  Madame  Dupont's  was  in  a 
perilous  condition.  The  girls  were  treated  upon 
the  presumption  that  they  were  rogues — and  listen- 
ing at  the  key-holes,  followed  by  unexplained  punish- 
ment, with  a  continual  life  of  petty  deception,  made 
up  pretty  much  the  system  of  the  place.  The 
scholars  were  promised  rewards  for  doing  their  duty 
— and  threatened  with  punishment  for  not  under- 


INSTRUCTION.  285 

standing  their  instructors'  caprices.  I  give,  as  speci- 
men, an  instance  out  of  a  thousand,  that  my  readers 
may  say  whether  I  harshly  attack  the  French 
schools  or  not.  One  of  the  pupils  received  from  a 
former  inmate  of  the  establishment  a  very  insulting, 
coarse  letter.  This  was  opened — as  all  letters  in* 
tended  for  the  pupils  were  opened  and  read  by  the 
principal — and  afterward  re-sealed  and  given  to  the 
child.  The  little  thing  was  very  much  hurt,  and 
showed  it  to  her  mother  in  her  next  visit  to  the 
school,  which  caused  considerable  excitement.  The 
teacher  was  alarmed.  Calling  the  recipient  before 
her,  she  said :  "It  was  very  improper,  Louise,  for 
one  to  send,  or  you  to  receive  this  letter.  And 
when  Madame  -  -  comes,  you  must  say  that  you 
have  not  read  it." 

"  But   I  have   read   it,"  was  the   naive   reply. 

"My  child,"  said  this  guardian  of  youth,  "it  is 
proper,  nay,  necessary,  that  children  should  obey, 
without  question,  their  superiors." 

The  little  girl,  in  presence  of  her  instructor,  said 
very  demurely  that  she  had  not  read  the  letter 
alluded  to ;  but  subsequently  I  heard  her  in  the 
garden  rating  the  offending  party  soundly  for  send- 
ing so  impertinent  a  missive.  She  had  both  obeyed 
her  teacher  and  her  own  proper  impulses. 

I  look  back  at  this  revival  of   my  school  days 


286  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

with  mingled  feelings  of  pleasure  and  regret.  It 
was  pleasure  to  be  thrown  with  so  many  generous, 
impulsive  hearts,  as  I  found  in  a  majority  of  the 
young  ladies.  And  I  am  indignant  when  I  remem- 
ber what  a  perfect  sham  the  entire  concern  was, 
looked  at  as  a  school.  The  children  thought  of 
nothing  but  their  Sunday  evenings,  when  a  minia- 
ture ball  or  reception  was  enacted  for  the  avowed 
purpose  of  instructing  them  in  deportment.  Quite 
unnecessary  this ;  they,  one  and  all,  were  adepts 
in  what  is  considered  necessary  to  make  the  ball- 
room attractive. 

At  one  of  these  I  noticed,  while  seated  near  the 
window,  the  thin,  careworn,  and  anxious  face  of 
the  English  teacher  looking  into  the  room  with  so 
much  earnestness  that  my  eyes  followed  hers  until 
they  rested  upon  the  little  creature  I  have  spoken 
of.  I  could  not  understand  why  the  poor  woman 
should  be  looking  through  the  window,  when  she 
probably  thought  herself  concealed,  in  place  of 
joining  the  company,  or  why  she  should  regard 
so  intently  my  little  friend.  There  was  a  mystery 
about  the  affair  that  greatly  excited  my  curiosity; 
and,  as  I  looked  at  her,  I  saw  the  tears  gather  in 
her  eyes,  and,  with  them  glittering  on  the  lids,  she 
turned  away. 

This  mystery  was  greatly  augmented  by  an  event 


INSTRUCTION.  287 

that  followed  nearly  a  month  after.  1  was  in  the 
room  of  little  Sophie,  my  energetic  friend,  advising 
with  her  upon  the  momentous  question  of  a  head-dress 
that  was  to  improve  her  small  share  of  beauty  at 
some  private  theatricals  in  a  neighboring  school ;  and 
after  the  child  left,  feeling  fatigued,  I  threw  myself 
upon  the  bed  to  rest.  I  had  lain  but  half  an  hour 
when  a  concealed  door  in  the  wall  at  one.  side  of 
me  suddenly  opened,  and,  to  my  utter  astonish- 
ment, the  English  teacher  entered.  In  any  other 
house,  or  with  other  persons,  I  should  have  started, 
or  have  been  frightened;  but  as  it  was,  I  could 
only  stare  at  the  apparition,  who  evidently  was 
not  aware  of  my  presence,  for  she  hastily  crossed 
the  room,  took  from  its  place  above  the  mantel 
the  miniature  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  then  fell 
upon  her  knees  kissing  the  picture,  while  a  perfect 
storm  of  sobs  and  tears  burst  forth.  My  situation 
was  exceedingly  embarrassing,  and  I,  probably,  in 
my  attempt  to  think  of  something  to  relieve  me, 
would  have  ended  in  remaining  quiet ;  but  she 
began  murmuring  something  that  was  probably 
improper  to  listen  to  in  this  manner,  so,  rising,  I 
touched  the  poor  woman  upon  the  shoulder.  She 
started  to  her  feet,  dropping  the  miniature,  and  for 
a  moment  stood  staring  at  me  in  perfect  astonish- 
ment. It  was  piteous  to  see  her  trembling  with 


288  BELL     SMITH     ABKOAD. 

fear  while  attempting  to  speak — and,  without  utter* 
ing  a  coherent  expression,  she  ended  by  abruptly 
leaving  the  room. 

Here  was  a  romance  in  real  life,  and  it  excited 
my  curiosity  to  such  an  extent,  that  I  sought  an 
opportunity  to  ask  Madame  Dupont  something  of 
the  history  of  her  English  instructor.  She  gave  it  me 
without  hesitation— indeed,  with  much  fluency — and 
favored  me  with  such  eulogies  and  such  minute 
particulars,  that  I  began  to  suspect  that  she  knew  no- 
thing whatever,  or  very  little,  of  the  subject.  These 
suspicions  were  confirmed  by  Mademoiselle  Therese, 
one  of  Madame  Dupont's  familiars,  to  whom  I  after- 
ward appealed,  favoring  me  with  a  history  quite  as 
minute,  and  differing  in  every  particular.  After  all,  I 
began  to  believe  the  poor  creature  was  partially  insane 
— and  as  for  the  concealed  door,  the  walls  were 
covered  with  them.  Kate,  an  English  pupil,  gave 
'me  an  instance  very  near  my  experience.  After 
obtaining  permission  to  pass  the  afternoon  with  a 
friend  in  the  city,  a  violent  headache  actually 
drove  her  from  the  carriage  to  her  room,  where 
she  locked  the  door,  threw  herself  upon  the  bed, 
around  which  she  drew  the  curtains  with  the  hope 
of  sleeping  away  her  sickness.  She  was  awakened 
from  a  doze  by  hearing  the  noise  of  drawers  being 
opened,  and,  on  peeping  out,  had  the  satisfac- 


INSTRUCTION.  289 

tion  of  seeing  one  of  Madame's  familiars,  having 
.entered  from  some  unknown  source,  busy  rummag- 
ing through  her  possessions. 

My  doubts  and  anxieties  were  all  resolved  some 
weeks  after  the  adventure,  by  the  mysterious  person 
herself,  who  entered  my  room  while  I  was  alone, 
and  begged  that  I  would  not  betray  her ;  and,  be- 
fore I  could  assure  her  that  I  knew  nothing,  came 
out  with  the  entire  story.  The  little  girl  she  so 
tenderly  'watched  over  was  her  own  child — the 
miniature  I  had  seen  her  kiss  was  that  of  her 
husband — both  she  had  deserted,  long,  long  be- 
fore, and,  as  she  said  passionately,  brought  shame 
upon  them  ;  and  now  she  sought  only  to  be  near 
without  being  known  to  her  innocent  child  Sophie, 
and,  by  suffering  and  self-denial,  if  possible,  re- 
trieve a  portion  of  her  great  sin.  I  assured  the 
poor  woman  she  had  nothing  to  fear  from  me,  and 
so  we  separated.  My  impulse  was  to  acquaint 
Sophie  with  the  fact — at  least  make  some  effort  to 
have  her  regard  the  unknown  mother  with  more 
kindness.  This  last  I  succeeded  to  some  extent  in 
accomplishing,  and  would  have  brought  about  the 
first — for  I  think  however  bad  a  mother  may  be, 
she  will  not  have  her  child  so,  and  under  all 
circumstances  is  its  best  friend  and  protector.  But 

while    hesitating    upon    so    important    a   move    the 

13 


290  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

lime  limited  for  my  stay  expired,  and  I  had  no 
wish  to  protract  it.  Indeed,  had  not  the  quarter 
been  paid  for  in  advance,  my  residence  would  have 
been  still  more  brief;  as  it  was,  the  bill  of  extras 
presented  on  our  departure  was  peculiarly  French 
and  dishonest.  So  we  parted,  leaving  the  actors 
to  live  out  their  romance  without  interference.  I 
learned  subsequently  that  Sophie  had  been  recalled 
to  England,  and  the  teacher  of  English  disappeared 
also.  Whether  to  follow  unseen  her  innocent  child, 
or  again  to  separate,  I  do  not  know,  and  probably 
never  will. 

You  must  not  suppose,  my  dear  friend,  that  I 
have  taken  my  own  feelings,  and  my  own  little  ex- 
perience, as  a  guide  to  my  pen  in  these  strictures  on 
French  schools.  The  institution  I  tried  is  pro- 
nounced one  of  the  best  in  Paris,  while  the  observa- 
tion and  experience  of  all  I  have  met,  who  express 
themselves  on  this  subject,  sustain  my  own.  From 

them    all  I  must  except    that  of   Mrs.  ,  an 

English  lady,  who  really  seeks  to  mafce  her  institu- 
tion what  it  purports  to  be — a  thorough  system 
of  education,  with  all  the  advantages  an  honest 
effort  can  accomplish,  with  the  benefits  arising  from 
its  position  in  Paris. 


XXIII. 


(DID  prison. 


Y  visiting  the 
Arch  of  Tri- 
umph and 
the  fine  Col- 
umn in  The 
Place  Ven- 
dome,  reg- 
ularly, one 
can  see  a 
discontented 
member  of 
French  so- 
ciety com- 
mit suicide. 
The  use  of 
some  court 
favor,  and 

a  small  consideration,  properly  placed,  will  gain  you 
admittance   to  an   execution.     The   Morgue   is  open 


202  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

at  all  hours,  and  free  to  any  wishing  to  see  how 
distressed  humanity  turns  up  again.  But  the 
prisons  of  Paris  are  difficult"  of  access.  I  .  have 
made  various  efforts,  given  some  money  and  no 
little  persuasion,  but  to  no  purpose.  This  is  to  be 
regretted.  The  largest  and  most  interesting  portion 
of  French  history  pours  through  the  vaulted  pass- 
ages and  dim  cells  of  these  massive  and  silent 
friends  of  despotism — and  my  peculiar  mind  alwaj^s 
needs  the  frame-work,  as  it  were,  to  call  up  again 
before  me  the  vivid  pictures  of  the  past.  I  have 
always  regretted  the  folly  of  the  mob  that  caused 
the  destruction  of  the  Bastille.  That  strange  and 
ugly  witness  against  cruel  rulers  should  have*  been 
left  to  tell  all  future  time  the  heartlessness  of  tyrants, 
and  the  justice  of  the  Revolution.  The  darker 
deeds  of  Government  should  be  left  as  witnesses, 
and  the  light,  graceful,  and  fascinating  evidences 
swept  away.  The  people  should  have  destroyed 
the  Louvre,  burned  the  Tuileries,  and,  after  them, 
every  palace  in  France — but  left  the  prisons,  gibbets, 
and  instruments  of  torture,  for  their  children's 
children  to  shudder  at.  I,  however,  regret  the 
Bastille.  Its  historical  associations  make  it  some- 
thing in  my  mind.  ^,  I  should  like  to  walk  through 
its  somber  passages,  sit  in  its  darker  cells,  and  pic- 
ture to  myself  the  hundreds  of  authors,  artists, 


THE    OLD    PRISON.  293 

philosophers,  courtiers,  and  soldiers,  who  had  fretted 
day  after  day  within  its  heavy  walls. 

Near  Eue  Bonaparte,  in  one  of  the  dark  courts 
made  by  old  buildings  of  various  shapes,  but  all 
high  and  weather-stained,  stands  an  old  prison 
which  we  had  often  gazed  at  with  much  interest. 
Every  thing  about  it  pertained  to  a  former  age. 
The  long  narrow  windows,  the  arched  door-ways, 
and,  above  all,  the  round  projections  at  the  corners, 
gave  evidence  of  a  time  when  the  place  was  not 
only  a  prison,  but  ofte"n  a  garrison.  Every  few 
years  the  houses  in  the  neighborhood  are  scraped, 
and  to  a  certain  extent  repaired  ;  but  the  old  prison, 
like  a  place  accursed,  is  neglected,  and  the  dark 
stains  of  years  gather  and  thicken  upon  its  walls — 
while  on  the  slates  grow  in  corners  the  green  moss 
— all  giving  a  somber  expression,  as  if,  like  a  hu- 
man head,  the  old  house  had  thoughts  and  memories 
which  wrote  readable  characters  upon  the  counte- 
nance. 

I  had  an  intense  desire  to  walk  through  and  see 
the  interior  of  this  relic — but  the  sentinel  who  paced 
slowly  to  and  fro  before  the  entrance  gave  me  to 
understand,  very  clearly,  that  such  excursions  were 
forbidden.  One  day,  however,  we  made  again  an 
attempt— ^-the  sentinel  shook  his  stupid  head,  and 
we  were  about  turning  away,  when  an  officer,  who 


294  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

had  witnessed  the  scene,  stepped  forward,  and  after 
a  brief  talk,  politely  invited  us  to  enter.  The  in- 
vitation was  as  surprising  as  our  request,  but  we 
followed,  and  were  placed  under  the  supervision  of 
an  old  woman,  the  ordinary  conductor  on  such  oc- 
casions, and  were  soon  staring  intensely  at  the 
murky  interior.  We  ascended  a  few  steps,  trav- 
ersed a  long,  narrow,  dim  hall,  from  which  opened 
low  arched  doors,  and  were  shown  room  upon  room, 
small,  dark,  and  unwholesome,  where  humanity 
must  have  pined  slowly,  for  the  building  was  con- 
structed before  Christianity  had  taught  the  art  of 
ventilation — to  say  nothing  of  the  further  care  and 
comfort  of  the  unfortunate.  As  I  gazed  at  the 
heavy  walls,  the  double-barred  windows,  the  thick 
oak  and  well-ironed  doors,  I  wondered  at  the  care 
taken  to  keep  a  few  miserable  wretches  shut  out 
from  liberty  and  sunlight,  and  asked  had  any  ever 
escaped?  We  were  in  a  small  apartment  lit  by  a 
single,  narrow  window  heavily  ironed,  when  I  asked 
this  question,  more  to  myself  than  aloud — when 
the  old  woman  nodded  her  head  affirmatively,  and 
pointed  to  a  name,  deeply  engraved  in  a  very 
rude  manner,  near  the  fire-place.  After  some  study, 
I  made  out  to  reach  the  name  of  "  Philip  Comte  de 
Villeneuve."  Another  name  was  evidently  engraved 
below,  but  so  filled  up  and  worn  by  time  we  could 


THE     OLD     PRISON.  295 

not  make  it  out.  The  old  concierge  seeing  rnj 
attempt,  said  briefly,  "Louise  Bertole."  I  asked  if 
she  knew  any  thing  of  the  history  connected  with 
these  two  names,  but  the  answer  was  incompre- 
hensible— something  in  reference  to  a  book — so 
I  dropped  the  subject ;  but  as  she  passed  the  little 
room,  serving  her  probably  as  a  bed-chamber,  but 
formerly  an  office  to  the  prison,  she  ran  in  and  re- 
turned with  an  old  book,  a  little  torn,  and  a  good 
deal  smoked,  called  the  "Prisons  of  Paris,"  and, 
opening,  pointed  to  the  page  where  began  the 
history  and  incidents  connected  with  the  building 
we  had  just  examined.  Of  course  I  purchased  this 
addition  to  an  eccentric  library,  and  was  soon  deep 
in  the  subject  of  our  prison.  A  portion  of  this 
relating  to  the  names  I  have  mentioned  is  here 
given,  translated  well  as  one  can  translate  not  the 
best  French  in  the  world. 

Count  Philip  de  Villeneuve  was  the  admirable 
Crichton  of  his  day — young,  handsome,  and  rich, 
his  accomplishments  were  without  limit,  as  his  cour- 
age was  beyond  question.  All  concurred — save 
Cardinal  Mazarin,  who  was  jealous,  and  old  Gen. 
Hubre,  who  was  stupid — in  believing  that  were 
Philip  to  turn  his  attention  to  some  serious  pursuit, 
he  would  be  famous  in  the  world.  But  the  careless 
youth  was  given  up  to  pleasure,  and  did  he  for 


296  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

a  short  time  devote  himself  to  study  or  work,  it 
was  in  quest  of  some  trifle,  unworthy  the  exertion. 
Philip  was  liked  and  admired  by  the  Queen  Mother, 
and  of  course  hated  by  the  Cardinal.  It  was  not 
a  safe  or  pleasant  thing  to  be  hated  by  the  Cardinal. 
Secretly  married  to  Anne  of  Austria,  the  Queen 
Mother,  he  had  the  government  under  his  control, 
and  made  all  suffer  who  crossed,  or  was  believed 
to  have  crossed  his  path.  Sprung  from  a  low  origin, 
he  felt  ill  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  gentlemen ; 
having  struggled  slowly  into  place,  he  never  felt 
secure,  and  was  for  ever  anticipating  trouble.  Vil- 
leneuve  was  a  gentleman,  and  admired  by  the 
Queen.  The  Cardinal  hated  him  for  the  one,  and 
feared  him  for  the  other.  He  was  a  doomed  man, 
only  waiting  for  an  overt  act  to  justify  his  ruin. 
It  came  after  awhile. 

That  the  wily  statesman  had  secured  his  po- 
sition by  secretly  marrying  Anne  of  Austria  is 
now  admitted  as  an  historical  fact.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  certain  it  was  that  almost  at  any  moment  he 
could  claim  an  audience  with  her  Majesty,  and  gain 
admittance  to  her  presence  in  a  manner  quite  un- 
known to  the  great  majority  of  the  court.  The 
gardens  of  the  Palais  Royale  lay  between  the  apart- 
ments of  the  Cardinal  and  the  residence  of  the 
Queen  Mother.  They  were  exclusively  appropriated 


THE    OLD    PRISON.  297 

to  the  latter ;  and  one  night,  when  the  statesman 
was  returning  through  them  to  his  rooms,  he  found 
to  his  consternation  he  had  lost  or  forgotten  the 
key  to  the  secret  panel  that  would  admit  him  to 
his  apartments.  Here  was  a  dilemma.  He  dare 
not  return — he  dare  not  call  for  assistance.  It  was 
a  chill  evening  in  December,  with  the  rain  de- 
scending in  thick,  penetrating  mists,  that  made  way 
through  garments  nowise  fitted  for  a  night  in  the* 
open  air.  The  cunning  Cardinal  was  sorely  puzzled. 
He  clenched  his  hands  in  very  vexation.  He  walked 
hastily  to  and  fro  to  warm  up  his  already  chilling 
blood.  He  turned  over  and  over  various  sugges- 
tions, but  none  were  practical.  He  must  do  some- 
thing or  freeze.  A  high  fence  of  iron  railings 
crossed  the  gardens  where  now  stands  the  gallery 
erected  by  Louis  Philippe,  to  swell  with  rents  the 
private  coffers  of  the  state — and,  seeking  the  corner 
farthest  from  the  sentry,  the  dignitary  attempted 
to  climb.  By  the  aid  of  a  small  tree  and  a  win- 
dow-shutter, he  gained  the  top,  but,  although  said 
to  be  excellent  at  climbing,  politically  speaking,  he 
made  a  bad  business  of  this;  for  when  he  found 
himself  on  the  points  of  the  railing,  it  was  with 
so  little  strength  left,  that  he  missed  his  hold,  and, 
but  for  his  gown  catching  upon  the  points,  would 
have  tumbled  to  the  ground.  As  it  was,  he  hung 

13* 


208  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

dangling  between  heaven  and  earth — without  grace, 
comfort,  or  dignity.  The  Cardinal  shouted  lustily, 
and  the  two  sentries  ran  to  his  assistance — not  pre- 
cisely to  his  assistance,  for  they  believed  him  a 
thief — and  one  placed  himself  on  guard,  while  the 
other  ran  for  aid.  The  sentinel,  to  amuse  himself, 
asked  numerous  impertinent  questions,  and,  to  hasten 
the  replies,  poked  the  unfortunate  with  his  musket. 
In  vain  the  poor  man  asserted  his  position — the 
stupid  fellow  only  laughed  the  more*,  and  asked 
his  highness  "how  he  found  the  Queen's  kitchen," 
and  other  questions  equally  absurd,  such  as  whether 
he  was  taking  a  lesson  in  hanging,  so  as  to  be  ready 
for  the  halter.  The  return  of  the  soldiers,  with 
an  officer  and  guard,  relieved  his  excellency  from 
his  painful  and  awkward  position. 

Of  course  so  t  startling  an  adventure  could  not 
be  suppressed.  It  was  whispered,  with  much  ex- 
aggeration, from  salon  to  salon,  and  at  last  shaped 
itself  into  an  epigram,  which  the  delicacy  of  the 
French  language,  and  yet  more  the  delicacy  of  my 
own,  will  not  permit  me  to  translate.  It  is  suffi- 
cient to  say  that  it  was  very  pointed — enough  so 
to  cause  the  shrewd  Italian  to  trace  it  to  its  author, 
the  Count  Philip  de  Yilleneuve.  The  sufferer  was  too 
wise  to  make  an  example  avowedly  of  the  author;  that 
would  be  making  bad  worse ;  and  Philip  was  seize4 


THE    OLD    PKISON.  299 

on  a  charge  of  high  treason,  and  hurried  to  the 
Bastille.  He  took  the  proceeding  with  his  accus- 
tomed grace  and  gentlemanly  indifference.  On 
being  conducted  to  his  cell  he  at  first  complained 
of  its  accommodations — but  immediately  added  that 
it  was  quite  well  enough  for  his  brief  stay.  "  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte  relies  upon  his  influence  at  court," 
said  the  Governor,  who  accompanied  him  to  his 
cell.  "By  no  means,"  coldly  replied  the  Count; 
"  I  shall  escape."  The  only  answer  to  this  was  a 
smile  of  derision.  But  sure  enough,  the  prisoner 
did  escape.  It  was  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world. 
He  purchased  a  disguise  of  a  guardian  from  one 
of  the  guards — and  pretending  madness,  would  throw 
his  books,  or  stool,  or  pitcher  at  the  turnkey,  when 
he  came  in  the  evening  with  his  dinner.  It  was 
a  very  disagreeable  procedure  for  the  keeper  to 
have  to  jump  out  of  the  way  of  articles  flying 
by  so  fiercely  and  irregular — and  accordingly  the 
little  ceremonies  were  hurried  through  briefly  as 
possible.  One  evening  he  found  the  Count  asleep, 
and,  not  caring  to  awaken  so  troublesome  a  gentle- 
man, he  placed  the  meal  upon  the  table  and  has- 
tened away.  It  was  not  necessary  to  take  any  pre- 
caution. A  great  deal  of  noise  would  not  have 
disturb od  the  occupant  of  the  bed.  In  fact  the 
Count  nad  placed  there  a  very  bad  imitation  of 


COO  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

himself,  and,  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  door, 
quietly  walked  out  with  the  keeper,  who  of  course 
mistook  him  for  one .  of  the  guard.  He  continued 
a  short  time  with  them — dropped  behind  and  turned 
into  the  first  passage,  and,  by  the  aid  of  a  little 
money  and  much  self-possession,  soon  found  him- 
self outside  of  the  hated  prison. 

One  would  suppose,  after  this,  the  Count  would 
have  concealed  himself,  or  at  least  have  avoided 
observation  until  his  friends  at  court  could  have 
secured  a  pardon.  He  did  no  such  thing — but  re- 
turned to  his  hotel — donned  his  best  apparel,  and, 
after  a  hearty  dinner,  drove  to  the  palace,  where  the 
astonished  Mazarin  found  him  gayly  chatting  with 
his  friends,  as  if  nothing  had  occurred.  Mazarin 
was  not  of  course  in  the  best  humor;  he  attributed 
this  audacity  to  the  interference  of  the  Queen  Mother, 
and  his  venomous  little  nature  was  aroused.  That 
night  the  Count  was  re-arrested  and  returned  to 
the  Bastille  before  the  wonder-stricken  Governor  had 
discovered  the  trick  that  had  been  played  upon  him. 

The  Count  was  placed  in  a  room  considered  the 
most  secure  in  the,  prison.  It  was  in  one  of  the 
towers,  and,  while  almost  cut  off  from  the  main 
body  of  the  building,  was  at  such  a  great  height  that 
no  communication  could  be  had  from  without.  The 
Governor  said,  ironically,  "  that  he  hoped  the  Count 


THE    OLD    PRISON.  301 

would  find  the  apartment  sufficiently  to  his  taste 
to  remain  in  it?"  "By  no  means,"  was  the  reply, 
"I  shall  escape.'^  This  was  considered  absurd,  and 
so  treated.  And  really  the  brave  gentleman  was 
puzzled.  A  large  number  of  guards — a  great  quan- 
tity of  huge  doors  were  between  him  and  the 
entrance — and  one  could  not  fly — at  least  the  at- 
tempt would  as  likely  free  one  from  earth  as  from 
prison.  Fortunately,  his  friends  kept  him  sup- 
plied with  money  from  his  estates,  and  he  set 
about  corrupting  the  guard.  But  one  came  near 
him,  a  grim  old  Cerberus,  with  as  much  wicked- 
ness and  cruelty  in  his  one  tiead  as  that  celebrated 
dog  could  possibly  have  in  three.  The  first  ap- 
proaches were  slow  and  painful.  The  overtures 
were  rejected  with  threats;  but  the  Count  perse- 
vered. The  enemy  yielded  slowly.  At  4irst  he 
lent  only  an  ear  to  the  proposals — then  he  received 
money,  and  the  sums  grew  larger  and  were  given 
more  frequently,  as  various  evidences  appeared  of 
willingness  to  assist.  He  secured  a  file  to  remove 
the  bars  from  his  window,  and  lastly  a  rope  by 
which  to  descend  into  the  moat  below.  Once  or 
twice  the  Count's  suspicions  were  aroused.  The 
man  was  too  ready.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to 
assist  in  removing  the  iron  bars  which  crossed  the 
window.  But  why  hesitate — why  suspect  or  quar- 


302  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

* 

rel  with  the  only  chance  of  escape  ?  He  put  aside 
hiu  suspicions,  and  carefully  hid  his  rope,  waiting 
patiently  for  a  night  sufficiently  dark  to  attempt 
the  dizzy  feat.  It  came  at  last,  a  night  of  storm 
— the  rain  was  dashed  by  strong  winds  against  the 
casement,  and,  the  old  towers  murmured  as  if  hold- 
ing talk  with  the  genius  of  the  tempest.  Nothing 
daunted,  the  brave  young  man  pulled  away  the 
bars — fastened  the  rope,  and  gave  himself  without 
hesitation  to  the  perilous  descent.  The  winds  blew 
with  a  force  that  made  him  vibrate  to  and  fro,  in 
a  manner  greatly  to  increase  the  labor  of  the  task. 
He  swung  from  side  to  side,  striking  against  the 
projections  of  the  building  with  a  violence  at 
times  almost  sufficient  to  make  him  lose  his  firm 
grasp  upon  the  cord.  He  persevered,  reaching  at 
last  with  much  pain  and  peril  the  end  of  the  rope, 
but,  to  his  astonishment,  not  the  water.  His  first 
impulse  was  to  let  himself  drop,  thinking  the  dis- 
tance not  great ;  but  a  second's  thought  made  him 
hesitate,  and  well  it  was  that  he  did.  A  vivid 
flash  of  lightning  exhibited  the  terrible  fact  that 
he  was  swinging  half-way  between  his  window  and 
the  ground.  The  treason — the  cruel  trap  was  but 
too  evident.  To  let  himself  fall  would  be  certain 
death — and  yet  he  could  not  continue  clinging  in 
the  storm  to  the  cord ;  his  remaining  strength  would 


THE    OLD    PRISON.  303 

soon  be  exhausted.  He  determined  to  return.  With 
desperate  efforts  he  clambered  a  short  distance  up 
the  rope,  and,  holding  by  his  teeth  and  one  hand, 
with  the  other  he  passed  the  end  of  the  rope 
around  his  leg  in  such  a  manner  as  to  afford  him 
a  support — and  loosening  his  wearied  grasp  he 
gathered  breath  and  strength  for  his  new  efforts. 

As  the  Count  swung,  resting  upon  the  narrow 
cord,  the  storm  swept  by,  but  the  wind  continued, 
and  the  stars  twinkled  in  the  blue  depths,  which 
the  many  lights  of  the  vast  city  seemed  reflecting. 
One  little  life  in  that  vast  multitude— one  little  ex- 
istence in  the  immensity  of  space — appeared  scarcely 
worth  struggling  to  preserve ;  yet  to  the  young  man, 
whose  brave  heart  never  faltered,  the  multitude  be- 
low, and  the  very  stars  above,  seemed  only  secondary 
to  himself.  The  sublime  egotism  of  heroic  character 
nerved  him  to  the  contest,  and  he  commenced  his 
painful  ascent.  Slowly  he  strove,  gaining  little  by 
little,  until  the  window  ledge  was  within  his  grasp 
— by  a  terrible  and  last  effort  he  gained  this,  drew 
himself  in,  and  fell  exhausted  upon  his  bed.  He 
did  not  despair;  but  from  the  very  mouth  of  a 
treacherous  defeat  won  his  victory.  Seizing  cloak 
and  hat  he  threw  them  from  the  window,  and,  in 
the  dim  light  of  coming  day,  had  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  them  floating  in  the  moat  below ;  he  then 


306  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

His  keeper  was  a  woman — a  deformed  woman/  In- 
deed the  responsible  guardians  of  this  prison  were 
an  old  soldier  and  his  daughter.  The  man,  a  wreck 
of  former  strength  eminently  developed,  had  but 
one  arm,  and  was  lame.  The  daughter,  as  I  said, 
was  deformed.  I  can  not  give,  as  the  JFrench  author 
has,  a  minute  description  of  this  ill-looking  person. 
An  injury  to  the  spine,  when  young,  had  destroyed 
all  symmetry  of  figure,  and  nothing  but  the  head 
remained  to  testify  to  the.  beauty  so  cruelly  de- 
stroyed. Could  that  head  have  been  separated 
from  its  fearful  support,  it  would  have  appeared 
the  head  of  a  Madonna.  But  placed  as  it  was,  it 
seemed  to  add  to  the  deformity.  The  great  quan- 
tity of  silken  black  hair  fell  over  a  complexion  of 
startling  purity — and  large  lustrous  eyes  lit  up  a 
face,  so  exquisitely  regular,  so  delicate,  so  expressive, 
that  a  sculptor  might  give  a  life  of  ideal  effort 
for  this — our  reality.  But,  alas!  this  head  of  an 
angel  was  chained  down  to  the  body  of  a  fiend, 
was  indeed  its  exponent,  and  exhibited  but  ex- 
pressions angry,  impatient,  or  painful.  The  heart 
born  to  be  full  of  sympathies — kind  as  the  spring, 
generous  as  the  day — had  been  locked  up  in  its 
loathsome  prison-house;  and  like  a  plant  shut  out 
from  light,  wilted  into  a  living  death.  But  I  write 
in  advance  of  my  story.  Day  after  day  went  by, 


THE    OLD    PRISON.  307 

and  Philip's  active  intellect  found  no  means  of 
escape.  No  one  approached  him  save  this  woman, 
with  the  domestics ;  and  she  stood  silent,  with  keys 
in  hand,  while  he  ate  his  meals,  and  they  arranged 
his  cell.  This  ended,  she  followed  them  out,  giving 
one  or  two  searching  glances  to  the  interior  as 
she  went.  He1  was,  indeed,  well  guarded — the  only 
important  prisoner,  he  had  the  undivided  attention 
of  an  honest,  stout,  old  soldier,  aided  by  the  vigil- 
ance of  a  morbidly  sharpened  intellect,  and  stimu- 
lated by  the  hope  of  reward  if  successful  in  keep- 
ing the  prisoner,  and  the  certainty  of  death  if  he 
failed.  Philip's  was  not  a  spirit  to  despair.  He 
said  to  himself,  "  Why,  this  is  a  woman ;  I  will 
appeal  to  her  feelings.  I  will  make  love  to  her." 
The  first  interview  after  this  resolution  made  him 
start  back  from  his  own  hidden  purpose — so  hideous 
in  person — so  cold  and  sarcastic  in  expression.  But 
it  was  necessary,  and  he  accordingly  approached 
cautiously  his  victim.  So  clear  a  head — so  shrewd 
an  intellect  would  suspect  at  once  the  design  of 
approaches  too  hastily  made.  There  was  no  reason- 
able motive  to  which  to  appeal — nothing  natural 
to  rest  upon.  I  wish  I  had  the  space  to  follow 
the  French  author  in  his  history  of  this  affair 
— in  his  cold  anatomy  of  the  being  he  had  selected 
to  dissect.  The  poor  heart,  imprisoned  in  its  fearful 


306  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

His  keeper  was  a  woman — a  deformed  woman.-  In- 
deed the  responsible  guardians  of  this  prison  were 
an  old  soldier  and  his  daughter.  The  man,  a  wreck 
of  former  strength  eminently  developed,  had  but 
one  arm,  and  was  lame.  The  daughter,  as  I  said, 
was  deformed.  I  can  not  give,  as  the  French  author 
has,  a  minute  description  of  this  ill -looking  person. 
An  injury  to  the  spine,  when  young,  had  destroyed 
all  symmetry  of  figure,  and  nothing  but  the  head 
remained  to  testify  to  the.  beauty  so  cruelly  de- 
stroyed. Could  that  head  have  been  separated 
from  its  fearful  support,  it  would  have  appeared 
the  head  of  a  Madonna.  But  placed  as  it  was,  it 
seemed  to  add  to  the  deformity.  The  great  quan- 
tity of  silken  black  hair  fell  over  a  complexion  of 
startling  purity — and  large  lustrous  eyes  lit  up  a 
face,  so  exquisitely  regular,  so  delicate,  so  expressive, 
that  a  sculptor  might  give  a  life  of  ideal  effort 
for  this — our  reality.  But,  alas!  this  head  of  an 
angel  was  chained  down  to  the  body  of  a  fiend, 
was  indeed  its  exponent,  and  exhibited  but  ex- 
pressions angry,  impatient,  or  painful.  The  heart 
born  to  be  full  of  sympathies — kind  as  the  spring, 
generous  as  the  day — had  been  locked  up  in  its 
loathsome  prison-house;  and  like  a  plant  shut  out 
from  light,  wilted  into  a  living  death.  But  I  write 
in  advance  of  my  story.  Day  after  day  went  by, 


THE    OLD    PKISON.  307 

and  Philip's  active  intellect  found  no  means  of 
escape.  No  one  approached  him  save  this  woman, 
with  the  domestics ;  and  she  stood  silent,  with  keys 
in  hand,  while  he  ate  his  meals,  and  they  arranged 
his  cell.  This  ended,  she  followed  them  out,  giving 
one  or  two  searching  glances  to  the  interior  as 
she  went  He"  was,  indeed,  well  guarded — the  only 
important  prisoner,  he  had  the  undivided  attention 
of  an  honest,  stout,  old  soldier,  aided  by  the  vigil- 
ance of  a  morbidly  sharpened  intellect,  and  stimu- 
lated by  the  hope  of  reward  if  successful  in  keep- 
ing the  prisoner,  and  the  certainty  of  death  if  he 
failed.  Philip's  was  not  a  spirit  to  despair.  He 
said  to  himself,  "  Why,  this  is  a  woman ;  I  will 
appeal  to  her  feelings.  I  will  make  love  to  her." 
The  first  interview  after  this  resolution  made  him 
start  back  from  his  own  hidden  purpose — so  hideous 
in  person — so  cold  and  sarcastic  in  expression.  But 
it  was  necessary,  and  he  accordingly  approached 
cautiously  his  victim.  So  clear  a  head — so  shrewd 
an  intellect  would  suspect  at  once  the  design  of 
approaches  too  hastily  made.  There  was  no  reason- 
able motive  to  which  to  appeal — nothing  natural 
to  rest  upon.  I  wish  I  had  the  space  to  follow 
the  French  author  in  his  history  of  this  affair 
— in  his  cold  anatomy  of  the  being  he  had  selected 
to  dissect.  The  poor  heart,  imprisoned  in  its  fearful 


308  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

tomb,  was  yet  human ;  the  strong,  yet  unrecognized, 
unacknowledged  longing  for  human  sympathy — that 
great  principle  of  life  that  moves  and  controls  all 
our  actions — there  had  its  growth,  morbidly  perhaps 
— like  a  plant  deprived  of  light — yet  positive  and 
strong.  It  is  hard  to  know  the  fact  that  one  created 
to  love  and  be  loved  saw  the  world  shrink  away  ; 
the  very  child  start  from  the  offered  caress,  and 
no  recognition  given  but  of  horror  and;  disgust; 
walked  alone  in  crowds,  and  could  die  unlamented. 
For  even  the  father,  rough  old  soldier  as  he  was, 
saw  only  a  deformed  child  where  he  had  hoped 
for  comfort  in  loveliness,  and  forgot  that  although 
the  beauty  was  gone,  feeling  remained.  The  soul 
thus  shunned  turned  upon  the  world,  and  gave 
harshness  for  harshness.  The  winter  freezes  the 
surface  of  the  stream,  yet  the  water  runs  fresh 
below ;  and  so  Philip  found  beneath  the  hard  exterior 
the  quick  throbbings  of  loving  humanity.  "You 
should  not  treat  me  so  harshly,  but  rather  let  us 
be  friends.  We  are  enough  alike.  I  am  buried  here 
for  life,  and  you  also.  Come,  let  us  make  things 
pleasant."  The  answer  was  an  impatient  one — but, 
nothing  daunted,  he  continued.  As  I  said,  I  have 
not  the  patience  to  follow  with  the  French  histo- 
rian, step  by  step,  this  strange  affair.  The  many 
approaches — the  many  repulses — yet  still  patient, 


THE    OLD    PRISON.  309 

pei-severing,  ever  kind  and  sad  in  appeals  to  a  heart 
that  was  at  last  awakened  to  a  sense  of  its  own  im- 
pulses—to its  own  power.  No  great  boon  suddenly 
bestowed — no  gift  of  light  to  the  l>orn  blind — no 
draught  of  water  to  the  famished  traveler — no  cry 
of  a  first-born  babe  falling  upon  a  mother's  ear,  ever 
gave  half  the  delight,  the  intense  enjoyment,  as  did 
the  first  utterings  of  sympathy  and  affection  to  this 
poor,  forlorn,  outcast  of  humanity.  Her  hard,  harsh 
nature,  softened  and  changed.  To  her,  as  if  by 
magicj'  changed  the  world — all  things  grew  beautiful 
— life  had  an  object,  the  earth  a  heaven.  Such 
natures  will  not  be  trampled  or  imposed  upon. 
Philip  conceived  his  plans,  and  made  his  approaches 
in  intense  selfish  hypocrisy.  lie  pretended  kindness 
when  he  felt  only  disgust — he  sought  to  awaken 
affection  only  for  the  purpose  of  betraying  it.  But 
all  this  gradually  changed  when  he  found  himself 
fascinated  by  a  clear,  subtle  intellect,  approaching 
almost  genius,  and  stored  with  treasures  to  which 
his  own  could  make  no  pretense.  The  mind,  turned 
upon  itself,  had  not  been  idle.  The  books  she  had 
devoured — the  poetry  she  had  treasured  up — the 
sciences  she  had  mastered,  were  all  spread  before 
him.  The  dim,  ugly,  little  cell  gradually  changed 
to  the  closet  of  a  student.  Philip  found  himself 
supplied  with  books,  pen,  ink,  paper,  and  a  lamp, 


310  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

things  denied  to  him  before,  and  the  comforts,  even 
luxuries  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed.  These 
were  much,  but  nothing  to  the  charm — the  fascina- 
tion of  the  strange  being  accident  had  brought 
him  in  contact  with.  And  she  became  less  and 
less  repulsive  as  the  attractions  of  her  mind  grew 
upon  his  likings.  Week  after  week,  month  after 
month,  passed  away,  and,  lost  in  study,  lost  in  the 
interest  of  other  and  higher  things,  Philip  forgot 
his  projected  escape.  New  desires,  new  hopes  of 
purer  ambition  took  possession  of  his  fine  nature, 
and  he  looked  back  with  astonishment  at  the  idle 
life  of  stupid  dissipation  he  had  passed.  Under  the 
teachings,  at  least  under  the  influence  of  the  weird 
creature  he  had  sought  to  use,  his  nature  was 
realizing  its  own  strength  and  high  destiny. 

What  would  have  been  the  result  of  this  had  it 
continued  as  it  commenced,  we  can  not  say.  But 
a  new  fact  came  to  change  the  current  of  events. 
Accustomed  to  an  active  out-door  life,  the  close, 
badly-ventilated  cell  began  in  time  to  exercise  a 
pernicious  influence  upon  his  health.  He  slowly 
wore  away,  losing  appetite  and  spirits.  His  res- 
piration seemed  impeded,  and  a  subtle  fever  the 
greater  part  of  the  time  seemed  to  be  consuming 
him.  All  this  was  seen  with  intense  anguish  by 
Louise.  She  nursed,  encouraged,  and  prescribed 


THE    OLD    PRISON.  311 

for  him,  as  she  would  for  a  child.  But  it  was  of 
no  avail.  The  prison-fever  had  taken  possession 
of  its  victim,  and  was  not  to  be  baffled  or  .destroyed. 
"  Ah  me !"  she  said  in  her  soft,  low  voice  to  him 
one  night  as  the  lamp-light  fell  upon  his  sunken 
cheeks  and  ghostly  eyes, — "  You  will  die  here, 
Philip — you  are  dying;"  and  her  words  seemed 
struggling  up  through  tears  ;  "  but  no,  you  shall  not 
perish  here — you  want  air,  exercise — pure  air." 

She  hastily  left  the  room,  but  in  a  few  minutes 
returned,  bidding  Philip  follow  her.  He  did  so, 
slowly  threading  the  intricate  passages,  and  opening 
door  after  door,  until  at  last  they  stood  upon  the 
threshold — the  stars  glittering  above,  and  the  free, 
cold  air  came  dashing  against  their  faces.  Philip 
was  almost  giddy  with  delight — like  a  very  child 
he  almost  shouted  in  the  sense  of  exquisite  enjoy- 
ment. A  second's  thought  brought  the  reality  to 
him,  and  he  turned  to  his  guide.  "Go,"  she 'said, 
"  be  free,  be  happy."  "  But  you  ?"  he  asked.  "  Have 
no  thought  of  me — or  if  you  do,  only  as  a  prison 
dream,  having  no  existence."  "  But  you  will  be 

punished  for  this — and  your  father ."     The  poor 

girl  started,  yet  said  nothing.  "No,"  continued 
Philip,  "  to  leave  in  this  way  will  be  the  act  only 
of  a  coward — let  us  return — return  to  our  books — • 
and  laugh  at  the  Cardinal,  brigand  that  he  is.  Let 


312  BELL    SMITH     ABROAD. 

us  return,  and  be  philosophers.  I  will  tell  you 
how  deformed  bodies  have  fair  and  truthful  souls 
— and  deceitful,  crooked,  cruel  souls  are  hid  in 
beautiful  bodies.  Let  us  return  and  mock  them 
all — we  will  be  happy  in  spite  of  Lord  Cardinals 
and  forgetful  Queens."  But  the  persuasive  words 
had  no  effect.  She  had  evidently  determined  upon 
securing  his  release,  whatever  the  consequences 
might  be;  and  after  some  hesitation  Philip,  feeling 
this,  and  above  all,  seduced  by  the  exquisite  sense 
of  freedom,  acting  upon  a  nature  made  yet  more 
sensitive  by  ill  health,  said : 

"I  must  go,  but  will  not  desert  you.  I  will  see 
my  friends,  find  means  by  which  you  can  be  saved, 
and  return  to  my  cell.'r  He  stooped,  imprinted  a 
kiss  upon  the  forehead  of  his  poor  little  liberator, 
and  in  a  second  had  disappeared.  She  was  alone ; 
and  from  the  silent  street  she  looked  up  through 
blinding  tears  to  the  stars,  as  if  searching  for  the 
happiness  so  lately  fled,  and  then  slowly  entered 
the  prison.  Many  and  many  a  poor  wretch  had 
beat  out  against  those  dreary  walls  his  miserable 
existence — but  never  before  had  the  prison  been 
such  a  prison  as  that  moment  when  receiving  its 
keeper. 

Philip  returned,  but  not  as  he  had  promised.     The 


THE    OLD    PRISON.  313 

fever  lie  carried  away  gathered  sufficient  strength 
to  prostrate  him  upon  his  bed,  where,  protected  and 
concealed  by  his  friends,  many  days  were  lost — a 
sad  loss  indeed.  The  first  efforts  in  returning  con- 
sciousness was  inquiry  as  to  his  poor  friend,  and 
the  information  was  of  such  a  nature  that,  regardless 
of  advice  and  entreaties,  he  hastened,  ill  as  he  wasv 
first  to  the  Queen  Mother  and  then  to  the  Old 
Prison.  He  returned  too  late — the  vengeance  of 
the  Cardinal  had  been  swift.  I  hasten  over  the 
fearful  scenes  so  minutely  described  in  the  book, 
in  which  poor  Louise  Bertole  realized  her  cruel 
destiny — and  saw  not  only  her  own  fearful  end, 
but  that  of  her  old  father.  It  was  a  chill,  dark 
morning,  with  the  rain  falling  in  thick  mists,  when 
Philip  staggered  from  his  carriage  to  see  a  scaffold 
in  the  court-yard,  and,  on  a  rude  table  in  the 
little  office,  two  forms  covered  by  a  sheet — the  pe- 
culiar outline  of  which  but  too  plainly  indicating 
the  dead  beneath. 

Philip  never  returned  to  prison.  The  interference 
of  high  personages  in  his  behalf,  and  subsequently 
the  death  of  the  Cardinal,  restored  him  to  liberty, 
but  never  to  his  former  self.  All  were  surprised 
at  the  sober,  thoughtful  man,  who,  from  a  reckless 
courtier,  became  a  student  and  a  philosopher.  This 

14 


314  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

is  the  little  romance  of  the  "Old  Prison,"  and  let 
all  who  visit  Paris  procure  the  book,  with  its  rude 
details,  and,  under  the  shadow  of  the  frowning 
witness  to  their  truth,  read  to  the  sorrowful  end. 


XXIV. 


inti  Artists, 


OLITICAL 

events,  things 
in  which  the 
authors  of  France 

will  interest  them- 

•» 

selves,  have  had 
the  effect  to  throw 
into  exile  .  the 
larger  number  of 
those  a  stranger 
most  desires  to 
look  upon.  Of 
the  great  names 
from  which  the 
to-day's  history  of 
the  people  will  be 
suspended,  very  few  remain  in  Paris  —  their  be- 
loved Paris  ;  the  rest  are  wandering  over  the 
earth,  suffering  outcasts.  The  men  who  will  be 


816  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

remembered  as  only  the  undying  dead  are  remem- 
bered, live  in  obscure  alleys,  miserable  garrets, 
and  gain  a  doubtful  livelihood  by  teaching  French, 
music,  fencing,  and,  even  by  hard  manual  labor 
in  alien  places. 

Lamartine  is  yet  in  Paris,  with  brain-driven  fingers 
striving  night  and  day  to  clear  off  debts  his  little 
experiment  at  statesmanship  brought  him.  Through 
the  kindness  of  our  excellent  consul,  Mr.  McRae, 
we  had  the  pleasure  of  a  presentation  to  the  great 
man,  shortly  after  taking  up  our  residence  in  Paris. 
The  interview  was  enough  common-place — he  looked 
upon  us  only  as  some  of  the  many  curious  Amer- 
icans who  break  into  his  room  for  an  intense  stare 
at  one  whose  name  once  rung  over  the  wide  earth. 
Well,  I  do  not  say  but  what  the  past  statesman 
was  very  right — such  was  our  motive  and  conduct. 

His  receptions  were  at  an  early  hour,  and  we 
drove  from  Mr.  McRae's  residence  immediately  after 
dinner — that  is,  half-past  eight  or  thereabouts.  Pull- 
ing up  in  front  of  a  huge  house  in  the  Hue  Ville 
Eveque,  we  found  the  porte  cochere  open,  and, 
hanging  upon  the  arm  of  our  pleasant  introducer, 
we  led  the  way  to  the  Bez  de  Chaussee,  passing 
through  first  a  conservatory  filled  with  plants,  more 
or  less  in  flower,  to  the  entrance  where  a  solemn- 
looking  domestic  threw  open  the  door  with  a  pre- 


AUTHORS    AND    ARTISTS.  317 

tended  announcement  of  our  names.  M.  Lamartine 
rose  to  meet  us,  and  I  was  absolutely  startled  by 
his  resemblance  to  Henry  Clay — a  handsome  edition 
of  Henry  Clay — Henry  Clay  revised  and  improved, 
but  yet  in  expression,  almost  in  feature,  in  every 
movement,  Henry  Clay. 

We  were  presented  to  Madame  Lamartine  and 
several  present,  whose  names  I  have  entirely  for- 
gotten. The  room  was  very  small,  with  the  walls 
entirely  covered  by  paintings  from  the  hand  of 
Madame  Lamartine,  and  giving  undoubted  evidences 
of  genius  in  that  line.  As  I  said,  our  interview 
was  without  any  striking  event  or  word  worthy 
of  record.  Lamartine  looked  wearied  to  death,  and 
expressed  himself  ill,  from  fever  and  hard  work. 
Poor  man,  the  sea  of  debt  he  had  to  encounter  was 
appalling.  He  began  one  year  since  with  300,000 
francs  before  him,  and  nothing  but  that  never-rest- 
ing brain  to  blot  it  out — nothing  to  lift  it  but  the 
delicate  pen.  Happily  his  writings  are  popular,  and 
he  has  only  to  exhibit  the  title-page  of  any  effort 
to  find  it  a  check  on  abundance.  The  amount  in 
this  way  has  been  reduced  to  50,000  francs. 

This  visit  to  Lamartine,  with  an  accidental  ren- 
counter with  Dumas,  makes  up  the  extent  of  our 
literary  lion-seeing  in  Paris.  We  were  walking 
along  the  Boulevards,  near  Rue  Lafitte,  one  day, 


318  BELL     SMITH     ABROAD. 

when  this  last-named  romance-writer  passed  us.  I 
knew  him  by  the  many  prints  and  portraits  in  cir- 
culation, and  we  all  turned  for  a%earty  stare.  He 
passed  at  a  brisk  walk,  worthy  the  man  who  spins 
off  such  volumes  in  so  short  a  time.  He  was  on 
his  way  to  an  open  carriage,  in  which  were  several 
gentlemen  waiting  to  speak  to  him ;  and  we  paused, 
D.  asserting  that  if  Monte  Cristo  came  back  near 
us  he  intended  addressing  him.  The  Monte  Cristo 
did  return,  and  D.  in  the  most  natural  manner 
asked  the  direction  to  an  adjoining  street.  The 
quick,  restless  eyes  of  the  giant-killer  took  us  all 
in  at  a  glance,  and  then  rattled  out  the  direction 
very  much  in  the  same  style  with  which  he  wrote 
the  Three  Mousquetaires.  Then  the  author  of  a 
hundred  romances,  having  indulged  in  one  truth, 
went  on.  I  watched  the  rapidly- vanishing  phenome 
non.  I  saw  the  hundred  volumes  yet  to  come  as- 
cend the  steps  of  Caf6  de  Paris,  and  the  coat-tail 
of  the  fabulous,  world-renowned  romancer  vibrating 
as  it  disappeared. 

Out  of  the  almost  hundreds  of  famous  authors 
in  and  about  Paris,  to  have  one's  observations  con- 
fined to  an  evening  with  Lamartine,  and  a  glance 
at  Dumas,  is  a  fact  by  no  manner  of  means  pleasant 
to  admit.  Yet  such  it  is;  the  curiosity  soon  wears 
away  when  one  is  in  the  world  of  wonders ;  not 


AUTHORS    AND    ARTISTS.  319 

only  is  this  true  in  reference  to  authors,  but  every 
day  I  find  myself  passing  famous  places  with 
scarcely  a  thought  for  them. 

D.,  who  had  seized  Lamennais'  books,  and  spelled 
through  them  soon  as  he  could  understand  a  dozen 
words,  was  ever  promising  himself,  with  enthusiasm, 
great  pleasure  in  an  acquaintance,  when  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  language  would  permit  a  free  inter- 
course. Before  that  day  came  the  large-headed  and 
simple-hearted  philosopher  folded  his  cloak  about 
him  and  laid  down  to  die — as  the  good  only  die. 
We  determined  to  assist  at  his  funeral,  and,  unaware 
of  an  order  issued  by  the  police,  set  out  for  his 
residence. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day.  The  sun  poured  its  clear 
light  over  steeple,  dome,  and  river,  where  the  busy 
thousands  wended  their  many  ways — and  a  confused 
murmur,  like  a  half-suppressed  prayer,  went  up 
from  the  mighty  city.  We  passed  the  Madeleine,  and 
saw  the  front  draped  in  immense  festoons  of  black 
velvet,  and  the  stupid  idea  entered  our  minds  that 
perhaps  the  government  was  doing  honor  to  one 
of  the  "  kings  of  thought."  Alas  I  no.  It  was  some 
famous  nobody  for  whom  the  cannon  boomed,  and 
plumes  nodded,  and  vast  ranks  of  glittering  soldiery 
lined  the  wide  thoroughfare,  keeping  back  the  star- 
ing crowds. 


320  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

We  left  the  heavy  Madeleine  suffering  in  the 
sunlight  from  its  pomp  of  woe,  and  soon  gained 
Rue ,  late  the  residence  of  Lamennais,  before 

which    a    few  carriages    and    a    small    crowd  were 

« 

gathered.  He  had,  in  his  last  illness,  requested  that 
no  priest  should  trouble  him,  so  no  ceremonies  were 
observed  in  his  burial.  The  crowd  was  not  so 
great  that  we  experienced  much  trouble  in  making 
our  way  through.  But  we  were  surprised  at  the 
appearance  of  the  military,  who  here  and  there 
red-dotted  the  little  throng. 

We  ascended  the  steep,  narrow  stairs,  to  the 
apartments  so  lately  occupied  by  the  great  author. 
Every  thing  exhibited  neatness  and  order,  but  no 
wealth  or  luxury.  The  library  of  well-used  books — 
I  picked  up  a  volume  and  saw  the  margin  covered 
with  penciled  notes — the  desk  with  pen  and  ink — 
the  arm-chair — all  were  so  many  mute  witnesses  of 
the  busy  brain  now  stilled  for  ever.  I  felt  strangely 
grieved,  as  if  I  were  witnessing  an  indignity  offered 
to  the  mighty  dead.  Having  just  passed  the  Made- 
leine, where  the  great  organ  roared  as  if  in  response 
to  the  mouthing  cannon,  and  one  saw  the  glitter 
of  arms  among  the  lace  stole  of  priests  as  power 
stooped  in  the  mockery  of  woe  over  unworthy 
humanity — and  to  see  here  the  almost  secret  manner 
in  which  the  purest  and  noblest  of  his  kind  was 


AUTHORS    AND    ARTISTS.  321 

being  placed  in  his  last  resting-place  I  But  the 
worst  was  yet  to  come. 

The  hearse  had  received  its  tenant,  the  family 
placed  in  the  one  mourning  coach,  and  the  crowd, 
numbering  not  more  than  three  or  four  hundred, 
were  about  forming  into  a  procession  to  follow  in 
respectful  silence  the  remains  of  one  so  loved — when 
a  gend'arme  suddenly  threw  himself  between  them 
and  the  hearse  exclaiming,  "  What  are  you  doing 
here — allez  vous  en  ?" 

There  was  something  so  insolent  in  manner  and 
tone,  that  I  find  it  impossible  to  translate,  or  put 
on  paper,  the  insult.  The  company  crowded  back 
perfectly  astounded — the  greater  number  certainly 
students  and  artists,  and  I  doubt  whether  so  griev- 
ous an  outrage  could  have  been  offered  to  other 
than  bookmen.  Several  cries  of  "shame"  were 
heard,  but  the  little  procession  broke  up,  and  these 
followed  the  hearse  at  a  distance,  which  now,  to 
our  disgust  and  astonishment,  began  to  move  in 
indecent  haste.  We  returned  heart-sick  to  our 
home,  but  learned  afterward  that  twice  on  its 
route  the  attempt  to  re-form  in  procession  was  in 
like  manner  broken  up,  and  even  at  the  gates  of 
the  grave-yard,  so  generally  open  to  all,  a  guard 
prevented  any  but  the  members  of  the  family  to 

enter.     I  make  no  comments  upon  this — it  needs  none. 

14* 


322  BELL     SMITH     AB11OAD. 

I  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  Mr.  Vattemare,  the 
originator  of  the  "  international  exchange  of  books," 
who  has  done  so  much  for  the  support  of  our 
libraries  and  the  general  diffusion  of  useful  knowl- 
edge in  the  United  States.  He  is  a  very  entertain- 
ing gentleman,  and  so  kind  to  Americans  visiting 
Paris  that  he  might  well  be  made,  as  he  is  now 
considered,  our  resident  representative.  The  greatest 
benefit  Mr.  Vattemare  could  now  do  to  international 
library  exchanges  would  be  to  give  us  a  history  of 
his  own  times  as  seen  both  by  Mr.  Alexander  and 
Mr.  Vattemare. 

And  this  was  my  first  year's  literary  experience 
in  Paris.  I  might  as  well  have  passed  the  same 
time  in  West  Liberty,  Ohio.  Yet  I  would  give  all 
the  stone  monuments  of  this  beautiful  city  for  an 
interview  with  minds  yet  more  monumental,  who 
pass  away,  leaving  only  the  shadow  of  themselves 
behind ;  for  no  one,  whatever  may  be  his  or  her 
genius,  leaves  a  work  approaching  the  work  de- 
signed—'but  only  evidence  of  what  might  have  been 
done  were  the  means  of  doing  only  more  perfect. 
To  converse,  to  look  upon  genius,  is  to  see  the 
living  spirit,  while  its  work  only  gives  the  inani- 
mate body — the  dry  bones.  What  great  tragedies 
have  lived  in  the  soul  and  beamed  from  the  eyes 
of  Shakspeare,  never  reduced  to  paper  I  What  nim- 


AUTHORS    AND    ARTISTS.  323 

ble  wit,  what  mirth-provoking  humors,  defying 
words,  have  been  born  at  their  tavern  dinners  when 
Ben  Johnson  presided,  that  there  exhaled  never  to 
be  heard  again ! 

With  artists  I  was  more  fortunate,  and  to  Healj, 
Eossiter,  Walcutt,  Cranch,  Powers,  and  May,  I  owe 
much — more  indeed  than  my  poor  words  can  well 
express.  The  society  they  made  up  of  gentle, 
refined,  intelligent  men,  with  the  frequent  re- 
unions at  rooms  where  every  day  saw  some  new 
creation — evidences  of  continued  effort  by  those 
destined  to  leave  their  mark  upon  the  age — have 
given  me  some  of  the  sunniest  hours  in  Paris. 
There  is  no  place  so  delightful  to  me  as  the  atelier 
of  the  artist.  Exhibition-rooms  can  give  me  no 
such  pleasure  as  the  narrow  dim-lit  walls  on  which 
are  caught  the  many  thoughts  of  genius  half  ex- 
pressed— only  sketched  at  or  finished,  while  all 
the  time  you  hear  the  talk  of  the  gifted  creator. 

No  one  has  made  more  progress  within  the  limit 
of  my  recollection  than  Mr.  Healy.  He  has  been 
devoting  himself  almost  exclusively  to  portrait-paint- 
ing, but  such  portraits  are  pictures  in  the  next 
generation.  Like  Stuart,  they  will  be  precious,  long 
after  the  originals  have  passed  from  human  knowl- 
edge. I  hold  this  to  be  a  very  high  work  of  art — 
indeed  the  truest  historical  painting,  when  the  char- 


324  BELL    SMITH    ABKOAD. 

acter  by  a  few  touches  of  the  brush  is  fixed  for  ever 
on  the  canvas.  It  was  feeling  this  power  in  him- 
self that  made  Mr.  Healy  select  as  an  historical 
picture  a  subject  that  yet  had  the  living  heads  from 
which  to  gather  the  event.  On  this  account  his 
great  effort  of  Webster  replying  to  Hayne  must 
grow  more  valuable  as  it  gets  in  age.  The  cluster 
of  eminent  statesmen  who  have  by  their  intellect 
and  eloquence  marked  our  age,  are  all  there,  un- 
dying in  their  calm  show  of  strength,  which  the 
artist  has  so  quietly  given  us.  For  in  an  exhibit 
of  a  scene  such  as  this,  all  unnatural  efforts  at 
theatrical  display  would  be  in  bad  taste.  If  we 
could  only  lift  the  curtain  and  look  in  upon  the 
reality,  when  some  great  event  is  being  enacted, 
we  should  be  content.  Mr.  Healy  has  lifted  the 
curtain,  and  fixed  the  startling  fact  before  us.  As 
I  said  before,  each  portrait  on  Mr.  Healy's  easel 
is  an  historical  painting,  remarkable  first  as  a  likeness, 
then  precious  as  a  picture;  and,  in  devoting  him- 
self to  this  line,  by  his  genius  and  industry,  bids 
fair  to  be  the  most  remarkable  living. 

In  passing  from  Mr.  Healy  to  Eossiter,  I  go  from 
the  historical  to  the  purely  fanciful.  The  heads 
of  the  two  artists  themselves  would  tell  the  differ- 
ence. I  can  not  remember  the  last-named  gentle- 
man's beautiful  efforts  without  his  fine  head  com 


AUTHORS    AND    ARTISTS.  325 

ing  in  between  and  through  it  seeing  the  picture. 
Mr.  Rossiter,  too,  has  been  a  hard  student,  and  his 
many  efforts  returned  to  the  United  States  attest 
his  success.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  some  of  the 
finest  were  painted  and  shipped  while  I  was  idling 
away  the  summer  in  Italy.  But  he  is  not  one  to 
be  content  with  what  he  has  completed. 

In  no  atelier  have  I  passed  more  and  pleasanter 
hours  than  in  that  of  Mr.  Walcutt  Indeed  it 
could  not  be  otherwise,  for  with  a  generous  en- 
thusiasm, quite  beyond  my  poor  thanks,  he  was 
continually  throwing  off  illustrations  of  my  own 
thoughts.  "With  Mr.  Walcutt's  quick  and  graceful 
pencil,  Bell  Smith  is  in  a  fair  way  of  being  an 
illumination. 

I  am  more  and  more  satisfied  that  no  American 
artist  should  leave  his  native  shores,  as  a  student 
in  Europe,  until  he  has  established  a  style  for  him- 
self, and  gone  far  toward-  exhausting  the  nature 
so  bountiful  around  him.  When  Cole  was  asked 
in  what  school  he  studied,  he  replied  in  that  of 
the  Juniata.  In  such  schools  must  the  great  na- 
tional one  be  built,  and  not  by  base  imitations  of 
exhausted  originals. 

Mr.  Healy,  looking  over  my  shoulder  while  I 
write  this,  with  one  of  his  pencils,  says  all  wrong, 
Well  he  is  the  better  judge,  so  I  will  say  no  more 


326  BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

— but  will  patiently  let  him  transfer  your  servant 
to  canvas,  while  Lucy  reads  us  "Hard  Times." 
Blessed  Dickens!  with  one  brush  of  his  pen  he 
has  wiped  out  a  whole  race  of  stinging  bumble- 
bees. The  Bounderbys,  the  droning,  eternal  boast- 
ing self-made  men — the  boring,  agonizing  "  I's,"  who 
never  have  done  with  that  one  story  of  "  I  did — 
I  have  done." 


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